


Hunger Pains

by Phoenix2319



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Character, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Cruising, Cum Play, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Eating Disorder, Emetophilia, Eventual Romance, Exhibitionism, FTM Sherlock Holmes, Falling In Love, Felching, First Time, Gay Sex, Glory Hole, Gore, Hormone therapy, Inexperienced Sherlock Holmes, Jealous Sherlock, John Watson Has a Large Cock, John is a dom, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbating, Masturbation, NOT Thinspo, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock Holmes, Underage Sex, Voyeurism, What even is recovery time, bottom growth kink, compulsive masturbating, copious amounts of precum, cum swapping, eventual dom/sub, feminine language referring to trans male genitalia, ftm cock, gagging, hook ups, its vulgar in the best of ways, trigger warning, undefined eating disorder, unintentional underage sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix2319/pseuds/Phoenix2319
Summary: Sherlock has never been a sexual person, it's never interested him. He'd tried it a few times, didn't like it, and never sought it out. After all, drugs held more stimulation for him than the pleasures of the flesh. it wasn't something he desired, or even thought about. But after discovering some rather... intimate details about John's sex life, it seems like his sex drive is trying to make up for all of the years it was on standby. Meanwhile, a rather gruesome string of murders might include John as the next target. Sherlock must connect invisible dots and dodge several red herrings while trying to figure out how to human correctly for once in his life.***This is an AU where Sherlock Holmes is a trans man. TRIGGER WARNING!! If you have bottom dysphoria, please tread lightly with this fic. The use of explicit feminine descriptors for Sherlock's genitalia happens very often, by both himself and others.***I wanted to write really filthy trans porn, and then plot happened around it. So I guess this is a case fic now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	1. The Curious Case of John Watson's Stubble

Sherlock lay on his back on the sofa, staring out the window into the darkened autumn night. He’d been there for hours, since before John left. The younger man knew that John had a shift today at the surgery. However, the scent of his “date night” cologne had gently washed across him, slightly stronger than he normally wore it. John was carrying a bag that Sherlock didn’t see very often, one he took on overnight trips when he knew he would be back the next day. Most likely fresher clothes and shoes. Sherlock saw the outline of a toothbrush when he briefly gave the bag a glance over, before returning his gaze to the window. John reached into the coat closet for his rarely used brown leather jacket, instead of the more sensible fleece he’d been wearing since the leaves had started to change. And while he was freshly showered with combed clean hair, and the dirt scraped out from underneath his nails, his jaw sported a few days worth of short stubble. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. He replayed the scene in his head again. Everything pieced together for a typical date night with some cute and kind girl, whom John would charm the pants off and spend the night at her place. Or maybe the toothbrush was to freshen up after work, and this was a first date. But then John would have been home some time ago. Or maybe he would walk in the door any second now, roll his eyes at Sherlock being in the same position and either take a shower or go to bed. Sherlock stared for several more minutes, before he was physically bent in half by a hunger cramp that tore through him, finally breaking his focus. John’s stubble flashed through his mind again, but he decided that food might be necessary at this point.

 

He rolled off the sofa, listening to all of his joints crack out of the position he’d kept for-Sherlock glanced at the clock- a solid twelve hours and 15 seconds now. His ankles creaked as he touched his bare feet down to the cold floor. They had a rug down, but the chill from outside crept into the wooden planks and pipes beneath the floor, making the rug frigid with it too. He walked slowly to the kitchen, robotically grabbing the bread and butter off the counter. It had also been several days since he’d eaten. There was no case to keep his mind occupied, and there hadn’t been for a while. He’d solved a grand double homicide last month, but since then, there had been nothing. Lestrade had sent over a few cold case files, per John’s request for his tempered flat mate, but they held no interest to Sherlock. He put two slices of bread in the toaster and moved to sit down at the table. He traced his thin fingers over the most recent damaged spot, frowning. He’d been testing different acid effects on bullets, one of the stronger types had eaten through the container and gotten ahold of the finish on the table, starting a small fire. John wasn’t as angry as he’d expected, after the initial panic to the flame, he and Sherlock both reached for the bag of flower they kept for just these occasions, and managed to put out the flame with minimal damage to the table. John scolded Sherlock for keeping a jar of acid on the table that they ate on, then griped about how idiotic the container was, joking for Sherlock to get the industrial ones. Sherlock had inclined his chin, but said nothing. There wasn’t much to say recently.

 

He jumped as the toaster popped, then cracked his neck as he stood to grab it. He pulled out the toast and put it on a napkin, taking his time to methodically smear the butter in a neat pattern across the surface of the bread. His stomach gave a heavy gurgle, and a shot of reflux bit at his throat. With a sigh, he opened the cabinet to his left to grab the peanut butter. He curled his toes under his feet restlessly as he added the peanut butter to his toast, putting the two slices together, folding the paper towel around it, making sure each side was symmetrical. He rinsed off his knife meticulously under a small stream of hot water, watching in dull fascination as the water ate underneath the food and dragged it down to the drain. When the knife was clean, he placed it back in the drawer and put all the things back neatly, wiping the counter.

 

_Stalling_. He accused himself.

 

He took his neatly wrapped toast back to the sofa, sitting down with a creak in his hips. He set the package down on the coffee table, smoothing out the wrinkles in the paper with his fingers, frowning slightly at the white spots on his nails.

 

_When did those show up_?

 

He remembered seeing them begin sometime last week, but it was miniscule, he’d forgotten. Hopefully John hadn’t noticed. It had been a while since Sherlock’s eating was this bad, maybe John wouldn’t notice. But John noticed everything, he could read Sherlock like a damn book, eventually. He wasn’t an idiot like everyone else. John saw through all of his barriers, with enough time. Through the years of sharing a flat with each other, Sherlock had come to be able to read in-between the lines in John’s behaviour. However, Sherlock could never really tell what he was thinking, and that frustrated him.

 

Another image of John’s stubble floated into his mind, it hadn’t left. Sherlock left his toast on the coffee table and laid back down on the sofa, looking out the window, one hand resting on his gaunt stomach and the other above his head, tangled in his hair in frustration.

 

Everything about John’s actions pointed towards a date night. Everything but the small beard he was sporting. John always shaved for his date. Sherlock had questioned him about it, John had shrugged, and glanced at him awkwardly.

 

“It’s more of a courtesy, for her.” He mumbled, clearing his throat and flushing, adjusting the paper he was reading to cover his face from Sherlock’s view.

 

Sherlock wondered what that meant for the rest of the day. At first he’d thought John meant kissing, but he wasn’t shy about kissing. The cough and the fact that he had a blush to hide meant it was more than just kissing. Sherlock was laying in bed later that night, when it dawned on him. His cheeks flushed, heat running down his sternum and his ribs, all the way to his groin. Sherlock gulped at the sensation, he hadn’t felt anything like that since Uni. He glanced at a specific spot on the floor. Normally he could stand to keep away from what lay underneath, but every now and then his gaze lingered. Sometimes he would stand over the spot, or sit with his hand over it. But eventually he would get up, walk away, roll over and look at the wall, and go to sleep.

 

_The beard.._

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open at the conclusion his mind made.

 

_John goes out clean shaven with women so as not to disturb their sensitive skin, so he would do the opposite for the opposite gender._

 

Sherlock rolled over and stared at his toast. He knew John may bisexual. John had talked about his time in the army and had hinted at it a few times. Sherlock had caught his lingering glances at other men, even Sherlock himself sometimes. It made sense, the leather jacket as opposed to the fleece, the stronger application of cologne. The realization was like a stone in Sherlock’s stomach. He sat up slowly, his eyes never leaving the toast wrapped up on the table. He reached out with shaking fingers and brushed the paper. The moisture from the warm toast had been absorbed into the paper towel, and the feeling of it made Sherlock’s stomach heave. He threw his hands over his mouth, squinting his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose until the feeling of nausea faded. He opened his eyes and stared helplessly at the toast. With one hand kept over his mouth, just in case, even though his stomach was empty, he shook his dressing gown sleeve down over his hand and gingerly picked up the toast. He stood slowly, moving towards the kitchen, and threw the toast in the bin. He dropped his hands to his sides and stared at the binned toast, its neat wrapping now frumpled and scattered with coffee grounds. He tilted his head at the bin, not noticing the front door opening behind him.

 

John walked in at 5:06 in the morning to Sherlock staring bent necked into the trash can, trembling slightly. He called out in a soft worried tone, but Sherlock didn’t make any notion that he’d heard him. John shrugged off his jacket and toed off his shoes, walking slowly over to Sherlock. He spoke again, a few feet away, but again, Sherlock didn’t acknowledge. John reached out slowly and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, seeming to push him back into his body. His head snapped over to look at John, who immediately noticed how tired he looked.

 

“You went out with a man tonight.” Sherlock said after a sharp breath, tasting the fragrance of a seperate musk than John’s, confirming his deduction. John’s eyes went wide, and he let out a surprised chuckle. His hand fell from Sherlock’s shoulder, making him shiver from the loss of warmth.

 

“I, uh, yeah I did.” He said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, glancing back at Sherlock with a question in his gaze.

 

“Oh.” Was all Sherlock could manage. John’s eye’s hardened slightly.

 

“Didn't think that was a big deal.” He replied, a slight gravel to his tone, making Sherlock flush, imagining what possibly could have gone on last night to make John’s voice so husky.

 

“ ‘s not.” Sherlock shook his head, looking at the ground.

 

“Okay… then.” John stepped back, glancing in the bin to see what Sherlock was staring at, but he found nothing out of the ordinary.

 

“The beard, it didn’t, it didn’t make sense.” Sherlock muttered weakly, shaking his head, moving past John to the hallway. John stood aside, scratching his stubble absentmindedly, watching Sherlock wobble down the hall to his room, locking himself inside. John sighed, staring at the door for a while longer, frowning. Sherlock had been distant recently, extremely distant. John could at least always get some sort of annoyance out of him, but now he was lucky if Sherlock even made eye contact with him. John shook his head, walking into the bathroom, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. He stared into the mirror and decided it was time for a shave. He ran the faucet, gathering his cream and his razor.

 

The change in Sherlock had happened almost overnight. He had been scratching unpleasantly at his violin for several hours, a scowl set onto his pristine features. Finally John couldn't take the noise anymore, snapping at him and stomping off to his room. Albeit childish, but it seemed to work. Sherlock stopped, then locked himself in his room for a day or two, only emerging for the toilet. One day he was laid on the sofa before John woke up, stuck in his mind palace and numb to the world. Not even the cold cases John had begged Lestrade for seemed to get to him. John shaved around everything but his moustache, considering keeping it for a brief second, before grimacing and continuing his shave. When he was finished, he washed his face, then leaned against the sink, staring at the water going down the drain.

 

_Maybe he’s depressed._

 

The thought sparked concern, John had only seen a depressed Sherlock after Irene had passed. But that was nothing like this. Those were danger days, where John worried he might turn to substance. But this past week held a different shade. Black days, almost. John shook his head, brow wrinkled, then pushed off the sink and went to his room. He fell into his nightly routine, no matter how exhausted he was, it was like he didn’t get a good night’s rest if he skipped it. As he laid down with the lights off, his mind wandered to his date. He’d been feeling restless, his type in women sometimes just didn’t get the edge he needed. So he logged onto a cruising site and set up an “appointment”. He’d gone to the man’s house after his shift, they had a few beers, watched a film, then a hand found its way into John’s pants and the night had gone from there. The man was very lithe, John had fun putting him into multiple positions, and boy had that scratched the itch. John was pleasantly worn out from his excursion, but his mind was still racing. His body had been satiated, but it wasn’t enough sometimes. That was the only drawback from hookups like these. John sighed, closing his eyes and rolling over. He was determined to fall asleep before his alarm went off at 7.

 

He settled into his covers, curling up around one of his pillows, pulling it to his chest and burying his face in it. He counted his breaths until he drifted off. Not for the first time, he dreamed of Sherlock. The image of Sherlock sprawled out on the sofa filled his mind. He saw how Sherlock had looked before he left, clad in his stained pjs and dressing gown, the white t-shirt riding up ever so slightly, exposing his sharp hip bones and a light trail of dark hair. His arms above his head, staring out the window, with one knee cocked up against the back cushion. In his dream, he slowly stretched out a hand and brushed his fingers over the exposed skin. Sherlock made a noise, but didn’t stir, other than a languid stretch. John palmed one of his sharp hip bones, then pushed up under his shirt, feeling the ribs under soft skin. Sherlock’s eyes opened lazily, gazing at John with sleepy interest as a thumb brushed over his nipple. In his dreams, they never went very far, which was an ease on John’s consciousness. Most of the time they never even kissed, but somehow they would end up entangled together on the sofa, or Sherlock would crawl into John’s lap and rest his head on his shoulder. Tonights dream was like that, Sherlock extended an arm to John, who took it and was pulled down onto the sofa. The last part of the dream, Sherlock was tucked against his side, forehead buried into his neck, while John’s arms encircled him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sherlock was his usual distant, but grumpy self. At the end of the spat they had after breakfast, John didn’t feel like bringing up any of what happened the night before. Several days passed, and John was starting to feel that itch again. Sherlock was doing some lab work in the kitchen, so John felt at ease logging onto the cruising site he used. There were three new notifications, and one crusing spot active. He checked out the profiles of the guys that sent him messages, but none of them piqued his interest. He looked at the local spots to see if there was anything, and low and behold, there was a twink in his 20’s hanging around the toilets at a park near Baker st. John licked his lips, glancing at the time. It was an acceptable time to fancy a stroll around the park. 

 

He closed his laptop and stood from his chair, stretching. He glanced at Sherlock, who still had his eye glued to his microscope, and was dead to the world around him. John shook his head, letting his gaze trace over the curve of Sherlock’s spine which was visible under the thin t shirt he was wearing. He scolded himself for the upteenth time, and moved to his bedroom to change. He knew that Sherlock could predict what he was doing by how he dressed, but lord knows what Sherlock would pick up that he didn’t even consider. He ran his fingers through his hair, deciding to bring sunglasses with him, not only for the mid afternoon autumn sun, but also for some nondescript-ness. He was going to meet some bloke in a public restroom for head for bloody sakes, the least people that could recognize him, the better. 

 

He trotted softly downstairs. If he left quietly enough, there was a chance Sherlock was so absorbed in what he was doing that he wouldn’t notice John’s absence until well after he left. A quick glance at the scientist proved that he was, indeed, not paying attention to him. John grabbed his fleece and quickly exited the townhouse, missing the quick glance Sherlock shot at the door right before it closed. As John made his way to the park, Sherlock crept over to his laptop, sitting innocently on the coffee table. John had changed the password, but it was still child’s play to unlock it. The website that popped up made Sherlock flush so hard, he was almost dizzy. He snooped through the dozens of private messages that were sent to John, only a few he replied to. John checked out their profiles and the dates they met up, he corresponded those times with what John was doing that day, and several things clicked into place in Sherlock’s mind. He went over to the cuising tab, which had a notification. There were three recent posts on a place near the house. There was one initial post from a boy named XxBoyJoyxX, stating how long he’d be in the area, and then a response from what could only be John’s profile, who had ( _ of course)  _ appropriately set his user name as Three_Continents_Johnson. 

_. _

Sherlock pushed the laptop away from him, only then realizing how hard he was breathing. His face felt warm, and there was a small fire burning in his chest, it almost felt like heartburn, but that could be from not eating for so long. He glanced down at the crotch of his trousers, curious if he would react in any way.

 

_ Only one way to find out. _ He grimaced. With a deep breath, his fingers made their way underneath his waistband. He felt his way through the soft unkempt curls on his mound, his fingers found his cock before his mind caught up and he let out a gasp at the light touch. He slowly slid his fingers on either side of his hard nub, and they dipped easily into his impossibly slick hole. He glanced back at the computer, and finally he couldn’t stand the curiosity anymore. He put the laptop on the arm of the chair and clicked on John’s profile. There were several photos attached to the profile, most of them were bare torso pictures, most of the time the bullet wound was tastefully cropped out, but you could kind of see it in a few of them. Sherlock’s fingers had a mind of their own and started slowly stroking the sides of his cock, using the drool from his hole to make the motion slicker. His feet came up to rest on the chair, so that his knees were almost pressed to his chest, but his legs were also spread open this way. For a moment, he took in his surroundings, marveling in how preverse the situation was. Any other day, Sherlock, in John’s chair, snooping on his laptop in the middle of the afternoon, it would be completely normal. But right now, things were in a different light. Sherlock was in  _ John’s chair _ , with his legs spread like a slag, his hand down his pants, looking at John’s profile on a gay hookup site. And at his point, his lack of stamina and experience caught up with him, the feeling of everything was too much, and he came. 

 

His eyes were glued to the picture of John on the screen, his broad shoulders taking up most of the room in the frame, you could see the strong chords of his neck, but his face was cropped out. You could see the light dusting of blond/silver hair in the middle of his chest and down on his abdomen. There were veins standing out against the v of his hips, and the picture went all the way down to a pair of red pants, with a very obvious bulge in them. His fingers squeezed his cock and the feeling suddenly washed over him. He threw his head back with a loud moan, quick gasps following suit and his fingers kept pulling him through his orgasm until he was almost too sensitive. His hips were bucking, more like twitching, in the aftershocks as he shakily withdrew his hand from his waistband. He looked at his fingers, heat rushing through him at the sight of his wetness strung between them. A sudden urge overtook him, and he found himself pushing his fingers into his mouth. The taste was almost metallic, strong and heady. Sherlock decided he liked it, and shamelessly pulled down the waist of his trousers and pants, exposing his cunt to the cool air. He dipped his fingers back into his hole, enjoying the delicious feeling of his slick fingers on his cock, which was still somewhat erect. He sucked his fingers back into his mouth, repeating the process until his hole lost some of its slickness and he decided to stop being a harlot and move out of John’s chair. 

 

He pulled his trousers back up and shakily made his way towards the kitchen, in slight awe at what he had just done. He hadn’t masturbated in several years, at least since before the fall. And even then, he hadn't done it for pleasure, only necessity. The last time he achieved orgasm out of want for an orgasm, he was in his 20’s sharing a room with Victor. He chased the image of the man out of his head, that was a long time ago.

 

The brief activity in the living room made his heart rate go up, and finally he could not ignore how much his body needed food. It had been well over a week since he last ate something, and even longer since he had a proper meal. He attempted toast again, this time skipping the peanut butter and shoving the piece in his mouth as soon as it was buttered. The toast was dry, despite the butter, and he had a hard time swallowing it, so he placed his face under the kitchen tap and drank several gulps of cold water. 

 

_ Here I am struggling to swallow toast, and I bet “Boy Joy” is having a wonderful meal. _

 

The bitter thought came out of nowhere, the jealousy and heat behind it rattled him a little. Sherlock shook his head, focusing on his toast once more, deciding to be civil and grab a glass for his water. He finished his toast and leaned back against the counter, sipping on his water. He tried not to think about what John was doing, but it was so difficult. His curiosity out weighed his negative emotions on the subject. Were they in the same stall? Or was it a single room where they could lock the door and no one could walk in and possibly hear the debauchery. Sherlock tried to remember what the bathrooms at the park looked like, but he must have deleted it. Sherlock imagined the boy was in a stall in the middle, and John would have to crouch down so his hips were level with the bottom of the stall. Sherlock imagined that his legs would get tired eventually, and he would have to lean back on to his arms, possibly pushing his co-

 

_ STOP! _

  
This had gone too far. He’d already invaded his flatmates privacy and  _ masturbated _ to a picture of him. He at least had to have the decency not to fantasise what his cock looked like, and the acts he would do with such cock. But then… Sherlock wasn’t decent. He wouldn't be as good at his job if he worried about things like decency. Sherlock was a detective, he figured out things that few could fathom, he went places no one would attempt in order to solve the case. He’d done worse than snoop through someones porn before, and he’d solved that case (granted, it was a child pornography ring, but it was shut down now, thanks to Sherlock). And now here he was presented with the best case to come along in ages, and he was shying away from it? This case had to be solved, and Sherlock was not going to waste anymore time.

 


	2. A Joyous Excursion to the Park Toilets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Trigger warning!! Feminine descriptors for trans male genitalia !! if this will upset you in any way, please read elsewhere!! I am not going to give a warning for this in any other chapter, be advised. ***
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the smut y'all.

He was quick to pull on his belstaff over his pjs and slip into his shoes, neglecting socks in his haste. It had honestly only been 20 minutes since John had left. If Sherlock took the back route, he’d not only avoid John, should he still be on his way, but he would come around to the back of the bathrooms and be undetected. He used his long legs to the best of his ability, and made it to the park in record time. He didn’t see John anywhere, and it looked like the bathrooms hadn’t been used in several months. That was probably why this was a popular place to “cruise” as they put it. Sherlock crouched in the bushes behind the toilets, spotting an open window that looked into the mens room. There was an electrical box about 15 cm away from the wall. Sherlock quietly climbed onto the box, thanking the gardeners for neglecting to trim the greenery, he was almost completely concealed save for the top of his head. He steeled himself, biting on his lips to muffle any sound he might make, then looked into the bathroom.

 

Multiple stalls, painted a light green color, graffiti covered almost every inch of wall space, and on his knees in the handicap stall, was XxBoyJoyxX, with his hand wrapped around an abnormally long cock that was most certainly not John’s, unless he had undergone a race change in the last 30 minutes. Sherlock scolded himself for being too late, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, the scene before him captivating his mind. Joy was a small man in his early 20’s, he was very muscular with a light tan covering his body, despite the recent overcast. His clothes were folded up neatly with his phone and wallet in the corner of the stall. He wore a graphic snapback that was perched with the bill touching the nape of his neck. The front of it kept his hair tucked up out of the way so he could focus on the task at hand. He only wore a pink jock strap to cover his body, but even that didn’t do much considering his average sized cock was dangling down outside of it, precum dripping a puddle onto the floor below him. A glint of light caught Sherlock’s eye, he did a double take at the gem plug that was peeking out between his cleft. 

 

Heat washed over his body yet again, and Sherlock accepted that he was going to masturbate to this. His hand slipped back into his pants. He glanced around, there was no one in this part of the park, and even if someone did pass by, they would have to look really hard to see Sherlock looking in the window. Feeling brave, or possibly stupid, he dropped his waistband down to the middle of his thighs. But this restricted how far apart he could get his legs, he nervously scooched his waistband down to his knees, before deciding to just rid himself of his clothing entirely, the belstaff would cover him. He bent down, removing his trousers and pants, stepping out of them completely. Feeling the outside air blow past his slick folds was a whole new experience, he had to hold back a gasp. He forced himself to stand with his legs spread, no matter how much he wanted to squeeze his legs together out of the sheer sensitivity of himself. He looked back into the window, his fingers tugging at his nub.

 

Joy’s throat was a third of the way impaled on the large dark brown cock that dangled through what could only be described as a glory hole. He made obscenely loud gagging and slurping noises, and the man in the other stall was loving it. When Sherlock had arrived, the man was quiet, but now he seemed to be struggling to keep his voice down.

 

“Ah, damn. Hold your head still, boy.” The man in the other stall groaned. Joy made a happy noise and pushed his face all the way to the base of the hole. The man in the other stall started thrusting into Joy’s throat, pushing his head back with the force of it. After a few seconds of this, the man let out a guttural sound, his hands coming up to grip the top of the stall, coming down Joy’s throat. The boy let out a needy whine as he swallowed the cum in his mouth. The black man pulled his cock back from Joy’s mouth slowly, breathing hard and groaning as Joy continued to do things with his mouth. Sherlock dipped his fingers into his wet hole and brushed the slick over his cock, keeping a slow pace, even though the man seemed to be finished. He threw a tenner through the glory hole and Joy caught it with a grin, tucking it alongside a few pound notes in his jock. He exited the stall pausing to use the urinal, washing his hands, and he was out the door. Joy went over to grab his phone, he laid on his side, playing with the plug in his ass with one hand, and responding to messages on his phone with the other. There was a quiet knock on the stall wall with the glory hole and Joy jumped, neither he nor Sherlock heard the other man come in.

 

“Johnson?” He asked.

 

“Yeah.” Came a low husky voice that made Sherlock squeeze his thighs together as his hole throbbed. 

 

_ Oh fuck its John.. _

 

“Mm, there's so much talk about you with the other bottoms, I’m eager to try you out myself.” Joy said flirtily, tracing a finger around the rim of the hole in the wall. John chucked.

 

“My my, I hope I can keep up with my reputation.” He responded darkly. Joy giggled and put his lips up to the hole.

 

“Maybe you should feed me that cock and we can find out.” He stated, his hand going down to lightly stroke at his own member. Sherlock held his breath as he heard John’s zipper, then the head of a fat, almost juicy, dick was pushed through the hole. Joy moaned and didn’t waste any time before wrapping his lips around it. For a split second, Sherlock was struck by jealousy. That boy shouldn’t be touching John, John wasn’t his! But at the same time, John let out a moan that went straight to Sherlock’s own cock. He decided he could be jealous later, but right now, he was going to watch John get his cock sucked by a stranger, and he was going to get off to it so much. His fingers sped up without him meaning to, his other hand sneaking down to prod at his hole. Joy worked John’s cock all the way down, which was a feat. While he was shorter than the man that was before him ( _ only by a few centimeters, surly)  _ he had massive girth that stretched Joy’s lips white around him. Joy was tugging his cock eagerly as he swallowed John down. Sherlock was having a hard time keeping his breathing level and his voice silent. After about 10 minutes of eager cock sucking from Joy, he keened and pulled off, leaving John’s cock twitching in the cool air of the toilets.

 

“Hey, uh, do you want to fuck me?” Joy asked. John chuckled breathlessly, his cock wagging up and down.

 

“That depends, I didn’t bring any rubbers.” He stated, sounding disappointed. Joy bit his lip.

 

“You clean?” He asked. John paused.

 

“Uh yeah, but uh.. Sorry, I really don’t want to risk anything.” He said. Joy pouted.

 

“Well, can I at least get this wall out of the way? I feel like this would be a better experience without it between us.” He asked. John laughed again. 

 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, boy.” He warned, his cock twitching in front of Joy’s face. Joy eagerly moaned his consent.

 

“Hee~ don’t worry, sir. I can take whatever you give me.” He finished with a long lap of John’s cock.  John stifled a moan and withdrew from the hole. Sherlock ducked a bit and held his breath as John came around the stall. Joy stayed on his knees, his mouth open and ready for John, who wasted no time shoving his cock back down the boys throat, not even bothering to close the stall door. 

 

A wave of dizziness washed over Sherlock, seeing the whole picture. He blocked off his breathing so that he wouldn’t make a sound, but that only made him dizzer. John’s expression was the most erotic thing Sherlock had ever seen. He grabbed the boys hair as he shoved his cock mercilessly down his throat, but Joy didn’t seem to mind. He looked like he was in heaven. John unzipped a little further and pulled his sac out of his pants, Joy eagerly placed his face underneath them and started suckling. John groaned, stroking his cock over the boys face, who looked up in awe as John laid his cock on his face so that it covered his nose and the leaking tip was resting on the snaps of his hat. Sherlock couldn’t see, but he guessed Joy had both of John’s nuts in his mouth. At this point, Sherlock was unabashedly fucking himself on two long fingers, he was so wet, there was bound to be a puddle on the generator box below him. In the stall, John pulled off Joy’s hat, letting loose a mess of blonde curls, and all of a sudden, Sherlock could picture himself in Joy’s place. On his knees in a filthy bathroom stall, debasing himself on John’s cock for his pleasure. Sherlock pulled his fingers out of his hole and away from his cock, his breathing heavy. He didn’t want to finish before they were done. The door to the bathroom opened, but neither John or Joy seemed to notice. Three men walked in rubbing their groins, obviously coming in search for Joy’s services. They stopped at the sounds of moaning and stared at John and Joy in the open stall. One of them made eye contact with Sherlock and smirked, placing his finger to his lips. He had a small tattoo on the side of his neck, something in Hebrew that he couldn’t make out. Sherlock nodded and moved his gaze back to the men in the stall, his fingers finding their places again. 

 

John pulled his sac out of the boys mouth and unceremoniously shoved his whole length down Joy’s throat. Joy couldn’t handle the sudden attack at his gag reflex and a little spit up came up around John’s cock. Joy tried to pull back an apologize, but it only seemed to spur John on more. He began fucking Joy’s face in earnest, the boys eyes rolling up and his arms going slack at his sides. A few more gurgles of spit up coated John’s cock before he pulled out with a roar, he jerked the boys head forward so that the spit up on John's cock ended up in his hair, Joy was gasping and crying, hick cock leaking profusely from under his jock. The three men were openly jerking off now. 

 

“S-sir please.” He croaked. John grunted, jerking his cock over the boys face.

 

“Where do you want it, slag?” He growled. Joy mewled and gripped at John’s legs. 

 

“Where ever you want, sir.” Joy cried, sounding almost broken. John laughed at him.

 

“Anywhere?” he asked. Joy mewled and grasped at him, jerking his cock and letting loose specs of precum. “You’re gonna regret that.” John said, before pushing the tip of his cock into one of Joy’s nostrils. Joy tried to jerk back, looking up at John in lust filled shock, but John had a firm grip on Joy’s curls. He came, breathing hard through his teeth, shooting rope after thick rope of cum up the boy’s nose. Joy gagged, openly sobbing at this point. His eyes were red, and some of John’s cum had started to leak out of the other nostril. Sherlock had three fingers shoved inside himself and bit his tongue to keep from making noise and he came his brains out. 

 

Joy was choking and sobbing as John stepped back, only just now noticing the three men stroking their erections outside of his stall. They looked like the type of guys who couldn’t care less about condoms, hell, one of them had a neck tattoo. John laughed and turned to Joy.

 

“Sorry I couldn’t fuck you, but I think these gentlemen would be more than happy to oblige.” John said. The three men nodded eagerly, moving in towards the crying boy in the stall, who put up no protest when one of them shoved their short, fat cock into his throat. John watched the men take their places, one of them nodded to him in respect and he gave them a wave, exiting the bathroom. Sherlock stood there with his fingers in his mouth, absently sucking the cum off of them and watching two men move to Joy’s ass, removing the gem plug and spitting on his hole. The guy with the neck tattoo looked up at Sherlock in the window.

 

“You wanna come in and join?” He asked. The other two men looked up in shock to see Sherlock peering in the window, and Joy seemed to be too lost in a haze of cock to even realize they were talking. Sherlock swallowed and shook his head.

 

“Oh come on, you’ve been watching the whole time, come and have some fun.” The man pleaded, shoving two fingers into Joy’s hole and grinning at the boys yelp. Sherlock shook his head again, ducking down and stepping into his pants. 

 

He left as quickly and discreetly as possible, making his way back to Baker st. in a daze. The image of Joy as John left him seemed to be a permanent fixture in his mind palace. Tears running down his face, drool running down his chest from bright red lips that had already taken so many cock’s before his, not to mention the cum running out of his nostrils and the boy’s blissed out look at the abuse. Sherlock throbbed every time it flashed in his mind. Joy looked so.. Happy? No, it was like he was beyond happy, beyond emotion. 

 

_ Ethereal _ . 

 

Sherlock craved to feel that way. To be taken out of his body and for his mind to be free. To give up his transport to John for use and soar above them. Sherlock tried not to think about how hard he orgasmed from watching his kind, ugly jumper wearing flatmate, brutalize some random twink in a public toilet, but honestly, he couldn’t get it out of his mind, no matter how hard he pressed delete. Sherlock had to stop and catch his breath at a bus station, his cock rubbing uncomfortably against his pants as it hardened and crept out of its hood. He made it back to Baker st., stumbling up the front steps, not having enough sense to hide how wrecked he was. He slowly pushed himself up the creaky stairs, his stomach growling at the scent of Mrs. Hudson’s baking, but he knew that no food would stay down should he attempt to eat. He was too fragile. He hated being fragile. 

 

When he walked into B, John wasn’t in the living room. He wasn’t in the bathroom either, so Sherlock locked himself in and drew a bath. He pulled off his belstaff and PJs, toeing off his shoes and stretching. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror. His hair was always a mess of dark curls, but today they were extra wild. His eyes were rimmed red, making the green in them stand out against his pale features and vibrant lips. His wide but thin shoulders gave way to a very v shaped torso, puffy pink nipples stood out against his almost translucent skin. His skin was so white it practically concealed his mastectomy scars. The procedure had gone smoothly, he didn’t have much breast tissue to start out with, they were able to leave the nipple stock in tact. His ribs were obvious under his pale skin, and his hip bones created a deep valley for his pelvis. His dark hair created a thick covering for his sex, but his cock was peeking out bright pink in contrast to the curls. Sherlock spread himself open and stared at the dark dusting of hair on his thighs. His legs were well shaped from being a londoner, all that walking, not to mention criminal chases. 

 

Sherlock turned towards the bath, shutting off the tap and testing the water. It was near boiling hot, but after a day like today, it was called for. He sank down into the bath closing the shower curtain, letting the warmth creep into his bones, chasing away the cold of fall. The steam rose to his face, sticking in his hair, creating a pleasant humid atmosphere around him. He quickly dozed off. He woke several hours later when the water had gone cold. He climbed out and threw on his dressing gown, barely bothering to towel off. His plan was to head straight to his room and spend a good hour considering that floorboard. There was a soft lavender light filtering through the windows, it must have been early dawn. John was in the kitchen making toast.

 

“Oh, erm, hey.” John greeted him. Sherlock inclined his head, reminding himself that John didn’t know he’d seen. “Are you alright, you’ve been locked in there a while. I was getting worried.” John’s toast popped and he busied himself buttering it. 

 

“I thought I got a lead on one of the cold cases. It was boring and disappointing, so I fell asleep in the bath.” He dismissed easily, shrugging. He looked out the window at the twinkling stars, almost disappearing from the sky.  

 

“Well, at least you’re sleeping, here.” John said. Sherlock looked in front of him as John pushed a slice of toast into his face. Sherlock took it with a glance at John. “I know you haven’t been eating much.” He shrugged. Sherlock nodded and took a small bite out of the corner of the toast. He marveled in the contrast of John. Only a few hours ago, he was glaring down at a complete stranger and shooting a wad of cum up their nose, but here, at home, he was Sherlock’s caretaker. Sherlock’s face heated up and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. He got to the middle of the toast and it had stopped tasting like sawdust. He gazed at John who was drinking a coffee and eating the other slice of toast across the table. 

 

“So what was the lead?” John asked, casually.

 

“Nothing worth talking about.” Sherlock brushed off. John sighed and looked down stiffly at his hands. 

 

“Okay well, I think there’s something we need to talk about.” He blurted. Immediately Sherlock tensed. His mind jumped to the park bathrooms, but it was irrational, there was no way John new about that. 


	3. Boarding School Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There’s something we need to talk about." John blurted. Sherlock tensed. it was irrational, there was no way John new about that.

 

“Well, what is it.” He snapped. John flinched and scratched at the back of his neck, before bracing himself and setting his expression.

 

“You’re not eating enough.” He stated simply. “Mrs. Hudson was the first one to say anything, but I noticed the calcium spots on your nails the other day, and I can see your spine. You’re having dizzy spells for christ’s sake.” his voice rose slightly before he quieted himself. “It's getting dangerous, Sherlock. I’m worried about you.” He finished, looking at Sherlock’s face across the table. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded.

 

“Nothing tastes good.” He responded. John nodded and looked into his coffee mug.

 

“Are you anorexic?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head.

 

“It's a generalized eating phobia I developed when I was a child, It seems to be making an unexpected comeback.” 

 

“Well how did you treat it when you were a child?” John asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.

 

“They hooked me up to a tube against my will and I was in a medicated coma for several days.” He told John, who grimaced and stared back into his mug. Sherlock  could see it perfectly in his mind palace. The girls at school had always teased him for his thick thighs, ever since he was in primary. From a young age, he learned to stay away from sweets. During the summer before his 5th year, he transitioned. Luckily with his family’s influence, the school didn’t raise a fuss, but those girls, they were relentless. They started dumping his food tray on the floor at every meal, when Sherlock would hide away with his supper, they would find him and verbally attack him for sneaking away with food. Eventually, their attacks grew physically violent, and he lost his appetite completely, it wasn’t worth taking food if they were going to hurt him for it. He’d lost his appetite so much that by Christmas break, after his first proper meal in months, he couldn’t keep it down. Or much of anything else after that. His throat was sore from vomiting so much over the break, his family was convinced he had gotten sick from the food, so they sent him off with several cans of soup when he inevitably had to return to school. The girls stole them and threw them at him.

 

They stopped bothering him after his face became gaunt, which should have made it easier to start eating again. They were leaving him alone. He was no longer under attack for eating food. But whenever he did eat something, he would just puke it back up. Hidden away at boarding school, it was easy to hide his constant vomiting. It went on for several years, he started having dizzy spells when he was 15. With his feeble limbs and the testosterone finally kicking in, he resembled a skeleton. He grew taller than Mycroft that year, but because he was so thin, the family still saw him as a small boy. The next year, he fainted during Christmas. His mother called in a doctor, who had them keep Sherlock in his bed at all costs. He hated that man. His face was never clean shaven, and his breath always smelled like old coffee. For a man who was supposed to be convincing Sherlock to eat, he was very unappetizing. So,  _ of course, _ the obvious next step was a feeding tube. They moved him to the hospital in town, though he did not go willingly. He begged Mycroft not to let them, to convince them that he was fine. He didn’t need any help, and he sure as hell did not need a damn feeding tube. But Mycroft ignored him. He helped hold Sherlock down when the doctor came in with the supplies. The needles went in and he was strapped to the bed, crying and thrashing all the way. The last thing he saw before several days of darkness was Mycroft’s cold face staring down at him.

 

However, it did work. After his body started accepting the nutrition he was neglecting for so long, he no longer got nauseous enough to throw it up. Some foods, however, he just could not tolerate. The scent of Licorice made his stomach turn uncomfortably, and anything mushy was absolutely out. He couldn’t even stand to eat apples because they made horrid squeaking sounds against his teeth.

 

“That’s terrible.” John muttered, finally. Sherlock shook himself out of his daydream and stared at the crumbs of toast on his fingers, absently bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean. John’s eyes followed the movement and felt a tinge of heat. He glanced a blush creeping up his neck. He’d had another dream about Sherlock last night. That’s why he was up so early, it was hard to fall back asleep after a dream like that. 

 

“So, what else helps? There has to be something less extreme.” John asked. Sherlock looked up at him, surprised, but shrugged. 

 

“I like toast.” He said. John grinned at him.

 

“Then we shall never run out of toast.” he gave Sherlock a mock salute, making the younger man snicker. The air around them seemed to palliate, slightly. It was like they were slowly getting more and more tense, but neither noticed how strained it was getting until it eased. Sherlock still didn’t know what he was going to do about the whole John situation, which was a pressing matter, honestly, seeing as they were flatmates. But Sherlock’s mind was too frazzled with processing the recent events to have anxiety about it. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, spine cracking. John noticed how thin his wrists looked and grimaced, but didn’t say anything. 

 

“I should go back to sleep.” Sherlock muttered, rubbing at his eyes. John nodded.

 

“Probably for the best.” John replied. Sherlock gave him a half smile, pushing himself out of the kitchen chair. John couldn’t help watching his long limbs unfold themselves. The way Sherlock moved was unlike anyone else he’d ever seen. With a last crack in his neck, Sherlock left for his room. John sighed, looking out into the living room, a warm orange light was peeking over the buildings to the east, cascading through their window and spilling over the furniture. He looked down into his black coffee, swirling it around in his mug a few times before cocking his head back and downing the rest. He moved to the living room, laying down on the sofa with a book. It wasn’t more than an hour before Sherlock was hurrying out to the living room fully dressed, texting up a storm.

 

“Case?” John asked.

 

“Yes, bloody finally. I was beginning to have doubt London’s criminals. Triple homicide, drugged bodyguard, and a missing fire escape ladder.” Sherlock grinned. John scoffed, standing from the sofa stretching.

 

“Alright, don’t look too excited, you’ll terrify the general public. I’ll be ready in 5.”


	4. Something Adjacent

Life fell back into its regular pattern. John would work some days at the surgery, Sherlock had enough cases to keep him occupied. It became a tradition for John to make toast several times a day. John would put on the kettle for tea and automatically pull out the bread to make them toast. He’d gotten them an array of different jams and spreads, that he made Sherlock promise he would not contaminate. Sherlock would be sitting in his mind palace, deducing and making equations, but as soon as John stepped in the room with their tea, he would instantly open his eyes and eagerly reach out. They had also started touching each other more casually. Neither one of them noticed it at first. John would ruffle Sherlock’s hair after placing a plate down next to him as his face was buried in a book, their fingers would linger on each other while passing evidence to observe, and even Lestrade said something about how close they stood to each other.

 

“So uh.. Are you two?” he asked softly. Sherlock was busy intently studying the material of a blood spattered wall, far enough away to not over hear them. John bristled beside the Inspector.

 

“No.” He said flatly. Lestrade raised a brow at John.

 

“Are you sure? Nothing is going on?  _ Nothing? _ ” he asked incredulously. John clenched his jaw and looked away uncomfortably. 

 

“Nothing, Greg. Just leave it.” John responded tersely. Lestrade put up his hands and backed off, calling Sherlock back to talk crime. Greg and John had gone out for a few beers over the years they’d known each other. John has never been shy about being Bi with Greg, especially considering his initial intentions were to get the man in bed with him. He had drunkenly said too much about Sherlock on occasion. Greg was finally able to get him to admit to a small crush, but that was as far as John would let it go. He knew Sherlock wasn’t interested, no use in getting his hopes up and weirding out the oddest man in the universe with his perverseness. Even Greg had tapped out when they’d gotten physical. John had pulled him in for a kiss one night after leaving the pup. Greg had eagerly responded to it and they ducked down an alley, but after a long and unsatisfactory fight over control, Greg pushed John away.

 

“Hey, I don’t think this is gonna work, mate.” He said, sounding extremley regretful. John cursed and agreed. They had a brief hug and John walked him out to get a cab. That was a few years ago, and since the sexual tension had dissipated between them, they were less inclined to go out as much as they used to. 

 

“John, I know where he’ll be next, we need to move quickly.” Sherlock was tugging at his jacket, and they were off again. Dashing down alleyways and hopping fences. This is when John felt most alive, the chase, hunting the prey. He craved the adrenaline rush, probably more than Sherlock. When they were low on cases, John felt restless as well, he just wasn’t so much of a twat about it. They rounded a corner, a little too fast, causing dirt to scrape against the asphalt. A man was crouched behind a trash can, hiding very obviously, and definitely not the 55 year old cannibal they were after. When he heard the scrape of John’s boots he jumped up, pulling a gun. John had his Sig in his hand before the other man could even blink.

 

“I didn’t have nothing to do with that kid, I swear man.” He pleaded. Sherlock stood behind John’s protective stance and watched the man with a hard stare. 

 

“What kid would that be?” He asked. The man narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, lowering his gun a little.

 

“Hey I know you… You were that bloke looking in the win-”

 

**_Bang!_ **

 

John tackled Sherlock to the ground as soon as the shot rang off. The man fell with a heavy thump, one of his eyes missing from the bullet that was just shot through his head. John had his eyes trained on the buildings, trying to spot the sniper, but to no avail. It eerily reminded him of the time Moriarty had his snipers watching their every move, making the hairs stand up on his neck.

 

“We need to get out of here Sherlock.” John said, still scanning the rooftops. He expected Sherlock to argue in favor for pursuing their original target, but he was strangely silent. John risked a glance at him over his shoulder and became concerned. Sherlock was staring in shock at the dead man behind the dumpster, then looked up to John with a horrified expression.

 

“What’s- Who is that Sherlock?” John asked, crouching next to the younger man. Sherlock just shook his head, swallowing hard. John looked over to the dead man again, pulling out his phone to dial Lestrade. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it. Sherlock had regained his composure by the time the police arrived. 

 

“What did he say before he was killed?” Lestrade asked. Sherlock remained silent, so John sighed and answered.

 

“He said something about a kid, and then it seemed like he recognized Sherlock but, uh..” he glanced over to Sherlock who appeared to have tuned out the conversation. Greg glanced him over and grimaced.

 

“Yeah, I can see that. Do you recognize him?” He asked, jotting something down on a notepad. John furrowed his brow, thinking back, hard. His face was still mostly recognizable, but it was only when he saw the blurry Hebrew words on his neck that it clicked.

 

“Holy fuck.” He breathed. Lestrade looked at him in concern.

 

“Is that a yes?” He asked, cautiously hopeful. John blushed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, his mind automatically flashing through the state he’d left that poor twink in. There was something about the kid that made John’s primal urges come out, he couldn’t help himself, and Joy didn’t seem to mind, really. 

 

“I, uh.. I saw him at a cruising site a few weeks ago.” he muttered quietly. Greg's eyes widened, glancing down to the dead guy behind the dumpster.

 

“Well. I don’t really think that helps us identify him, unless you have a username or something?” Greg asked. John bit his lip. It was worth a try.

 

“I might be able to find you something. I’ll get back to you on that.” He respond. Greg nodded, looking around at the mess of police tape and forensic teams. He sighed deeply.

 

“You two were supposed to be catching my suspect, not finding me a new case.” He grumbled. John laughed.

 

“Yeah well, you know Sherlock.” He responded. Greg just shook his head.

 

* * *

  
  


Sherlock had been strangely quiet all night, ever since that guy got offed in front of them. Which shouldn’t bother Sherlock. He’s killed people himself, seen it happen to people closer than the random bloke in the alley. Unless, he wasn’t some random. John looked up from his laptop to where Sherlock was typing away at his in his chair. John couldn’t fathom where Sherlock would have picked up that man as a mutual. John didn’t suspect he would have been in Sherlock’s homeless network, he was too clean for that, but at the same time, a drug connection wouldn’t be too far off. Sherlock had been struggling last month, especially with his eating. John wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t been completely sober during that time either. Or maybe he knew the bloke under the same circumstances that John knew him. He swallowed, but shook his head. There was no way Sherlock would have been involved with that guy, not sexually at least.

 

_ He’s gotta have some standards for that sort of thing. _ He looked back down at his blog, pretending to type up the last case they’d solved.

 

“So, any clue who that guy was? He seemed to know you.” John tried. Sherlock didn’t even look up.

 

“Nope.” He responded, eyes glued to his laptop.

 

“I wonder if it was from the tabloids. Im sure were household names somewhere.” John muttered. Sherlock looked uncomfortable for a split second before his mask hardened back on his face. John left it alone, deciding to try and do Lestrade his favor and find the guy. He logged onto his cruising site, feeling slightly awkward that he was doing this in the same room as Sherlock. He hadn’t been on in a week or so, so there were several unread messages, but he felt wrong answering to pictures of cocks while his flatmate sat directly across from him, so he focused on finding the archived posts at the park toilet. He found the day that XxBoyJoyxX had posted his ad, but only John and BullStudd420 had responded to the thread, which was the guy who left the bathroom before he went in. John looked through the posts going a week in either direction but came up empty. He glanced up at Sherlock again, but he was no longer on the chair where he was a minute ago. John closed his laptop abruptly and prayed that he hadn’t been snooping, but when he turned around, he saw Sherlock’s back as he walked into the kitchen. John followed him, leaning against the wall, watching the younger man make toast for himself, pulling the blueberry jam out of the fridge. 

 

“Toast is all well and good, but don’t you think we should have proper meals every now and then?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged.

 

“What do you have in mind?” He asked, though not stopping his toast making actions. 

 

“Well,” John started, pushing off the wall to come to stand directly behind Sherlock. “We could toast the bread with eggs and ham, make it a proper sandwich?” he asked. Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

 

“I don’t like eggs.” He responded.

 

“Well how about just ham?” John tried again. Sherlock seemed to consider it.

 

“Maybe later.” He agreed. John smiled, giving Sherlock’s hip a gentle squeeze before walking back into the living room. He completely missed the way Sherlock froze and his breath caught in his throat at the action. Sherlock stared after John, grasping at his stomach, willing the fluttering nausea to calm before he threw up all of the toast in his stomach. He ached for John to come back, to stand behind him like he was, with a firm grasp over his hips while he made them dinner. Hell, he’d eat mashed potatoes if it meant John would touch him like that again. The toaster popped, shocking Sherlock out of his fantasies. He couldn’t ignore the tell tale tendrils of heat that ran down his abdomen, however. He knew he would have to take care of himself tonight, especially if he were going to be able to focus on the case. His need to masturbate had soared over the past month. It was like he took one brick out of the dam, and the whole barricade collapsed and flooded. He was able to stave off for a few days after the bathroom incident, but being in such close proximity to John all the time, it was safer to just take care of it himself rather than ignore it and possibly make John notice. Sherlock snorted softly at the irony. It had been a few day’s since he’d felt the urge, but now it was there, full force, and he didn’t know if he’d even make it another hour before escaping to his room.

 

He took his toast with blueberry jam back into the living room. He glanced at John’s computer, and for a split second, he saw a cruising page pulled up, before John heard his footsteps and closed the window. 

 

_ John recognized him. _ Sherlock realized.  _ That’s just fantastic, both of us know the same amount of information, but we can't correlate because then he’d know I was… spying on them, and he’d know that I had seen…  _

 

Sherlock shoved an entire slice of toast in his mouth as he sat down on the sofa, attempting to halt any noises he might make from the images flashing through his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t make them stop, especially not with John himself in the room. The image of his thick member spanning chin to hairline across Joy’s face was oil painted, framed in gold, and hung on the grand staircase of his mind palace, there was no escaping it. He’d even unconsciously filed away the whole event into a seperate room for John. An entirely separate room from John’s room. It was a room for John’s cock, and everything he knew about it. Any fantasy he’d ever had in his life was in there, but all the faceless people from the past were replaced by John and his cock, and finally there was no escaping it. Sherlock was extremely and irrevocably attracted to John Watson. 

 

With that though, he swallowed down the last of his toast, refusing to give John full eye contact as he exited the room perhaps a little too suddenly.

 

“Sherlock?” He called after him.

 

“Tired.” Sherlock responded, strained. 

 

He made it into his bedroom, latching the door behind him. He only lasted about three seconds before he was hastily removing his trousers and pants. He pressed his back against the door and his fingers found his cock, the contact making him throw his head back, the small thud was lost to him in his haze. Every dirty thought about John swam through his head, the lust was almost tangible. He imagined John had somehow found out about his peeping at the toilets. He imagined John walking in and seeing him, so desperately touching himself. He would say things about how desperate he looked, how gagging for it he was that he had to peep on John through the window of a public toilet. He imagined John laughing, and calling him a slag, forcing him down to his knees where he’d be face to face with that magnificent cock. John would know how hungry he was for it, hell, it was the only thing he  _ was _ hungry for. And he would use that to wreck Sherlock. He’d grab him roughly by his curls, forcing his nose into his hard groin. Sherlock would go mad, feeling the outline under his trousers, smelling a hint of that delectable musk, but not being able to touch and taste. And John would talk dirty to him until his mind and body melted, and he was completely pliable under John’s strong and well worked hands. He imagined John letting him grind his cunt on the toe of his shoe, telling him that it was the only pleasure he deserved after his misdeeds.

 

Sherlock shook himself from the brutal fantasies, deciding to move to his bed before things got too out of hand. He slipped off his shirt and climbed into the middle of his bed, not bothering with pulling down the duvet. He laid on his back, staring down at his nude, flushed, form. He traced his fingers up the sides of his ribs to his nipples, a flutter of pleasure making his toes curl. He pinched at his nipples and watched his cock throb and peek out of his curls. He lightly trailed one hand down his sternum, across his abdomen, and through the thick thatch of hair. His cock was velvet soft underneath his fingers, and for a moment, he was lost in the pleasure of lightly stroking over the hood. It had definitely grown since uni. He used to have a small thin button of a clit, but now, years later and even though it was unused, it had thickened and elongated, about half a centimeter. The tip poked out of the hood when Sherlock was really aroused, which happened to be more often than not, nowadays. Sherlock silently thanked Mycroft for the spectacular hormone treatment he received after rehab. He ran his finger over the exposed tip, before jerking his hand back with a pained gasp. It was way too sensitive to even be remotely pleasurable, the pain he felt from it took the edge off of the heady arousal clinging to him. He decided to try a different approach.

 

He moved his other hand down to his hole, tracing the wet folds lightly, creating a delicious effect. He dipped one finger tip inside and gathered up a thick strand of wetness that he folded onto his cock to create some slickness. Sherlock gripped his now slickened cock between his thumb and forefinger, making a tugging motion that squeezed the tip without overstimulating it. He laid his head back against the pillows with a sigh, letting two fingers hook inside of him and rub at the soft spot that made him see white. 

 

He closed his eyes and let himself slip back into the fantasy of John, wondering what kind of lover he would be in a more domestic sense. Maybe because of his feminine sex, John would treat him delicately. He would be clean shaven and take his time, using a gentle tongue and soft fingers to tear Sherlock apart, bit by bit. He would caress Sherlock’s body with a warm and calloused hand, making him arch into it, kissing softly at his collar bone. Or maybe, due to his masculine shape, John would be anything but delicate. Maybe he’d bite and scratch at Sherlock, giving him just enough pleasure to want it, and enough brutality to make him fall to pieces. He would grip him tightly, holding him in any position he desired, leaving a constellation of bruises and bitemarks over his body. Sherlock shivered in delight at the thought of John marking him. He briefly wondered what things John would find attractive in a partner. Not physically per se, but action wise. 

 

Sherlock thought back to the scene in the toilets, how John’s demeanor changed when he was face to face with Joy. When there was a wall between them, John was a gentleman. Well, as much as a gentleman you can be with your cock stuck through a hole in a public toilet. But as soon as he rounded the corner and took in the image of the boy sucking him, he switched. Sherlock had seen a glint in his eyes, his jaw set and his shoulders squared. He physically reacted to the sight. Sherlock remembered John’s eyes following his fingers as he licked toast crumbs off of them the other night, he made a note to experiment with John’s visual stimuli.

 

Sherlock gasped as he curled his fingers against his spot more harshly than he meant to, and was surprised by the gush of fluid that flowed past his digits. He quickly pulled out his fingers to stare at the mess. He hadn’t orgasmed, it was just like he pushed it out of himself. He shook his head in bewilderment, deciding to do the scientific thing and lick it. He pushed his fingers into his mouth, his tongue devouring his own musky flavor. It tasted the same as the last time he tasted himself, it was almost addicting. He dipped his fingers back into his hole a few more times for another taste, and only after the third time did it occur to him that he was eating his own cum. He flushed, a small gush of slick drooled out of his hole and he helplessly scooped it up and licked it off his fingers, moaning. His other hand sped up, still tugging at his cock, his hips twitching as every stroke over his cock made him wetter. Eventually it became too much, and with a stifled shout, sucking on his cum coated fingers, he came. Shaking and bucking off the bed, a small sheen of sweat coating his body, making curls stick to his forehead. 

 

Breathing hard, he let his hands drop out to his sides, his legs parting bonelessly. He caught his breath for a few moments, his eyes feeling heavy. He looked down at the mess he’d made on the duvet, but decided that it didn't matter at the moment, and it could wait days to be laundered for all he cared. He pushed himself up on shaky limbs, pulling back the duvet and climbing underneath it's comforting weight. He curled up on his side, his legs tucked up against his chest. He tucked a pillow between them to deal with the uncomfortable slickness that remained, and it was long enough to completely curl around. He fell asleep not much later, dreaming of John curling around his back and keeping him warm.


	5. A Study in Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a thing for being naughty in public, I wonder what will come of it?

The next day, after several amazing deductions and another fabulous chase through the city, they caught the 55 year old canibal. He had tried to skip town, but had stupidly used his credit card to buy a train ticket, they arrested him at the station. But neither John, nor Sherlock, had any information on the man with the neck tattoo. Sherlock would never tell John, let alone Lestrade, where he knew the man from, and it wasn’t like he even spoke to the man, outside of being invited to join their sexual activity. Sherlock had ran through the scene several times, but it was difficult to focus on specific details of the man, when he was constantly distracted by John. Not to mention, his main focus had been on John at the time, and while he’s normally able to record things to analyze later, the arousal during the moment had tinged the memory. It was like someone had burned away at the edges of a photograph, just enough to distort the images anywhere but the focal point, which was of course, John. And almost every single time he would try to analyze the memory, he would end up becoming aroused, and he would have to take care of it before it became a problem, which it would, if left unattended to.

 

His constant masturbating was really throwing a wrench in the primary function of his transport, which was there to let his brain be capable of sustaining itself, and not much else. But if he tried to ignore the urge, eventually he’d end up squirming in his seat. A few times, he even left a wet spot on his chair after ignoring his needy cunt for several hours. John would call him on his squirming if it became too noticeable, and Sherlock would brush him off with lies of stomach related issues. So now, when John saw him shifting even slightly, he would escape to the kitchen, coming back with a tray of tea and toast. Sherlock would use this time to escape to his bedroom for a quick orgasm, but they were coming less and less quick lately. He used to be on a hair trigger, but because of the constant use, it now took him ages to achieve orgasm with just his fingers. And that wasn’t very good when he only had approximately 7 minutes from start to finish, excluding clean up time, to be back in the living room before John was done with tea. Sometimes, like right now, John would make them fried sandwiches. Sherlock liked ham and cheese, which would lengthen his time to 13 minutes, but even that mark was becoming more difficult to reach. Sherlock had just escaped the living room to do just that, not even bothering to move to his bed. Most of the time, like what he was doing right now, he would just lean against the door and slip his hand down his pants, for the sake of saving time.

 

His fingers teased his cock, dipping down into the slick of his hole and coming back up wet and slippery against his hard flesh. He was feeling an itch on the inside, he tried to reach it with his fingers, but despite how long they were, the angle was impossible for him to get to. He whined and clenched his teeth, fucking himself a little harder onto his fingers. Even though he couldn’t reach the itch inside, he was still so damn close to cumming

 

“Sherlock?” John knocked on his door. Sherlock yanked his hand out of his pants, slamming his head against the door in surprise, then cursing. John cracked open the door, peeking around to give Sherlock a curious glance. “You feeling alright?” He asked. Sherlock nodded, maybe too quickly.

 

“Fine, John.” he replied curtly. John fully opened the door now, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his magnificent chest. What Sherlock wouldn't do to be able to-

 

“You sure? There isn’t some sleeping disorder making a come back from your childhood?” John pressed. Sherlock looked away, flushing slightly.

 

“I’m fine John.” He said, quietly. John’s expression softened, his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out to Sherlock. Sherlock shifted his posture unconsciously, ducking his head down and crouching his shoulders, becoming smaller out of his anxiety. John looked away for a second, then met Sherlock’s eyes with a concerned gaze.

 

“We can talk about stuff, you know. If anything is bothering you.” John replied earnestly. Sherlock nodded, bringing his fingertips up to his lips to nibble on them, tasting the residual cum on them. John’s eyes followed the movement, licking the bottom of his lip in response. Sherlock suddenly remembered his note about John’s visual stimuli, and kept a finger on his bottom lip as he spoke.

 

“I guess, there's something.” he responded. John looked back up to his eyes, brows furrowing.

 

“What’s up?” he asked. Sherlock traced his bottom lip with the tip of his finger, watching John try and fail not to stare at his mouth. He bit his lip, John mirrored his action slightly, eyes flicking back to Sherlock’s to check if he’d been caught, but Sherlock looked away, sighing.

 

“It’s.. the case. I feel like I missed something.” he lied. He hadn’t missed anything, it was a fairly straightforward case. Man kidnaps girl, kills her, harvests her organs, eats them, isn't careful. And now he’s in jail, but he wanted to play on John’s concern, seeing if it could keep him focused away from Sherlock’s experiment.

 

“Oh?” John responded lamely. Sherlock continued to chew on his fingertips and play with his lips as he spouted off nonsense about his disappointment with the case, but they were spoke to deaf ears as John was captivated with Sherlock’s movements. After a minute or two, he shook himself out of it.

 

“I’m sorry, are you-” He stopped, looking down at his socks, a flush overtaking his face. “Are you doing that on purpose?” He asked, finally looking Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock feigned ignorance.

 

“Doing what?” he asked, holding off a smirk. John cleared his throat and shook his head again, trying to clear it.

 

“Nothing. Hey, your sandwich is going to get cold.” He muttered, turning and walking stiffly to the living room. Sherlock caught sight of a tell tale bulge forming before he left. Sherlock smoothed out his clothing, cursing at the new throb that started in his loins. He followed John out to the kitchen, where the table was set for lunch, a glass of ice water for each of them gathering condensation. Sherlock blushed slightly, smiling.

 

“Thank you, John.” He muttered quietly. John threw him a grin over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, well, with that horrid case behind us, I figured we could use a little treat.” He’d made them grilled cheese with tomato soup, even sprinkled a little dried parsley over the top. Sherlock sat down, pulling his feet up onto his chair, hugging his knees to his chest.

 

His still hard cock was pushed on by his briefs going taut. Sherlock swallowed a noise, sneaking one finger under the table to rub at himself while John had his back turned. Sherlock was flushed with the feeling of how forbidden his actions were. John sat down at the table and started into his sandwich, starting a casual conversation. Sherlock kept his eyes on his food as he slowly ate with his right hand, his left was busy rubbing up and down his slit. Thinking about John in his fantasies was already such a dirty thing, but that was all in his head. Touching himself here, sitting no more than a meter away, eating lunch together, it was real. Tangible. At any moment, John could notice the odd movement of his right hand, could call him out on only eating with his left. The thought of being caught sent a surge of heat down his stomach. He was grateful for the large shirt he was wearing, pooling up in places and hiding the movements of his hand on his cleft. John finished his meal, taking his dishes to the sink, talking about his upcoming shifts at the surgery. With his back turned and the water running in the sink, Sherlock grew a bit braver. He maneuvered his waistband so that his arse and cunt were exposed, but it still looked like they were on all the way. He shifted his dressing gown so that it covered his now bare arse from John’s view. Sherlock turned his head to look at John, who was also dressed in his pjs, consisting of loose shorts, with obviously no pants, and a nice fitting v neck t-shirt. Sherlock quickly wolfed down the other half of his sandwich, lifting his mug of soup to his lips. He played with the rim of the mug in his mouth, stroking his cock under the table.

 

“Sherlock?” John looked over his shoulder at him, but still focused on the dishes. Sherlock put a finger inside of himself.

 

“Sorry?” He asked, proud of how unwavered his voice was.

 

“I asked if you wanted anything specific from tescos, I’m going after my shift on Wednesday .” He asked, drying his plate and bowl along with a few other things that had been left in the sink. Sherlock put another finger inside himself, and it gave him an idea.

 

“Cucumbers.” He responded quietly, not trusting his voice for much more than that while he fingered himself. He abandoned his soup mug and let his other hand sneak down to tug at his cock. He leaned forward on his legs, and from John’s angle, it would look like he had a very loose hold around his legs, though he ached to spread his legs open for John to see. Images of what John would do if he found Sherlock playing with himself at the table flashed through his mind, fogging it over.

 

“I didn’t know you like cucumbers.” John mused. Sherlock shook his head, pressing his cheek into his knees.

 

“ ‘S for an experiment.” He said as clearly as he could, staring at the curve of John’s butt and the strong, lightly hair dusted thighs that came out from under the shorts. Sherlock bit his lip, he was close. John turned around, making Sherlock slow down his movements, but only slightly as he couldn’t help how good it was feeling. John saw that his plate was empty and grabbed his dishes.

 

“Figures.” He muttered, standing right next to Sherlock’s chair, practically bending over him to grab his mug. Sherlock got a delightful eye full of John’s bulge in his shorts, there was a slight natural musk to John that washed over him as the older man leaned in so close. Sherlock added another finger, trying not to move them too fast, or else he might make a squelching noise, which John would hear. Sherlock wanted him to hear, hear how wet he was for him. He wanted John to grab his knees and force his legs apart, so that he would watch Sherlock touch himself, just for him. Sherlock took a deep breath as John moved back towards the sink to finish the dishes. He used the cover of the sink turning on to relentlessly ram his fingers into his drooling slit, tugging furiously at his cock. He imagined John rubbing his cock through his pants, urging Sherlock on while he watched. Teasing Sherlock with the prospect of getting a proper fucking. John would tease him until his own cock was leaking pre-cum and he couldn’t hold back anymore, yanking down his pants and taking Sherlock with the feral passion he’d seen John exhibit so many times on cases. Sherlock bit his lip and held his breath as he came hard. He swore he heard a dribble of his cum splash on the floor, but it could have been the sink. Sherlock shook slightly in the aftershocks, his hole pulsing around his now still fingers. His foggy mind picturing what it would feel like to cum on John’s long, thick cock, milking John’s own orgasm into his unused womb. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the jolt that ran through his body at the thought, his orgasm flooding over his fingers. He shook himself out of his fantasies, realizing John was done with the dishes. He pulled his waistband back up, his underwear becoming slick with his cum, and after a brief glance, he confirmed there was now a huge wet spot on the back of his dressing gown. He couldn’t be bothered.

 

“You haven’t been listening to anything I’ve been saying, have you?” John accused, now standing adjacent to Sherlock with his hands on his hips, a towel thrown over his shoulder. Sherlock threw him an exhausted glance, and John’s expression smoothed. “Sherlock, are you sure you’re doing okay?” he asked softly, coming over to feel Sherlock’s forehead, which was of course warm and damp with sweat after what he’d just finished doing, but John took it as a sign of being ill.

 

“Oh bollocks, are you sick? Why didn't you tell me?! Let me go grab some medication from the cupboard.” John trotted off to the bathroom before Sherlock could dispute. He shook his head, standing from his chair and stretching, several bones cracking. He let John pour a shot of cold medicine down his throat and swallow a fever reducer, it would only help him sleep, later. John turned on the telly to some sci-fi show that he liked, sitting at the far end of the sofa. Sherlock wanted the blanket that was draped over the back, so he curled up in the other corner, pulling the afghani over him. Though he was eating regularly, he was still severely underweight for his age and height, which meant he was always so bloody cold. John was right, he can’t just survive on toast, but it was just so hard to eat anything else. John had dragged him to Angelos the other night, and he barely managed to clear a quarter of his spaghetti. John smiled at him in understanding, getting the rest to go and feeding it to Sherlock for lunch over the week. Sherlock was eternally grateful for John. Despite the recent development of his libido, and his thoughts about John being none to platonic, the man was still his best friend. They’d been through so much together. Years of cases and inside jokes, sharing the rush of the game, what they had was something they couldn’t get from anyone else. And after Sherlock dying and getting tortured for three years, and John’s failed marriage and the miscarriage of his daughter, their bond was unbreakable.

  


Sherlock was dozed off from the cold medicine, his neck bent at an awkward angle and soft snores bubbling up from his throat. John looked over him, fondly. His hair was a beautiful mess of dark curls, John ached to run his fingers through the silky locks. To run the pads of his fingers over Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones, over his jaw and his lips. John gave Sherlock’s lips a hard, hungry stare, before shaking his head and sighing.

 

“Sherlock.” He called quietly. Sherlock woke momentarily with a sharp breath, his eyes not fully opened.

 

“Ngh, wha~?” he muttered unintelligently, rubbing clumsily at his eyes.

 

“C’mere.” John said, patting his thigh. Sherlock complied easily, shifting his hips to that he was leaning to the other side, his head soon in John’s lap. He stared up at John blearily, dissociated from the cough syrup.

 

“John.” He sighed softly, content. John’s hand gently rested on Sherlock’s shoulder, testing the contact. The sleeping man let a lazy smile spread across his face, and John couldn’t help but rub at Sherlock’s dimple with his thumb. Sherlock settled, and John watched him closely as he slid his fingers into the younger man’s curls. Sherlock sighed again, his brows knitting together in a slight crease.

 

“Jo~hnn..” Sherlock moaned softly, causing the man in question to bite his lip.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, brushing Sherlock’s hair out of his face and behind his ear, letting his fingers trace the outer shell of it. Sherlock nuzzled into his thigh, bringing up his hand to rest on the leg as well.

 

“Don’ stop..” he breathed quietly. John smiled at him.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He promised, his voice barely a breath, but Sherlock heard him, his features relaxing and a soft smile on his lips. John sat there for over an hour, watching Sherlock sleep, before he too, was claimed by slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sound off in the comments!! I have plans for future chapters when it comes to the smexy stuff, and I would like some input from y'all. (most of this is already written, I just suck at posting schedules) 
> 
> First, the question of Sherlock's pubic hair. I really like the idea that he's just never paid attention to it because it hadn't occurred to him to groom, I'm stuck between three scenarios on this.
> 
> A) Shaved bare
> 
> B) Shaved lips with a trimmed thatch on his mons
> 
> C) Just trimmed
> 
> And then does he keep it like that? Or should he experiment and really drive John crazy? Let me know your input! I'm going to post another chapter some time today!


	6. OverKill

They slept like that throughout the whole night. John woke before the sun with a stiff neck and an urgency beneath his abdomen. Sherlock’s face was pressed into his stomach, he had rolled over in his sleep, one arm awkwardly wrapped around John’s waist. John’s stomach fluttered at the sight, Sherlock’s soft breath on his naval through his shirt didn’t help. John brushed the man’s wild hair out of his face, a fond smile gracing his lips, but his bladder had woken him up for a reason. He regretfully detangled himself from his flat mate, making sure his head was supported as John laid it on the sofa. Sherlock made a noise and shuffled in on himself, not waking fully, but enough to grumble a curse in John’s direction.

 

Upon the walk to the loo, John noticed the morning wood that was happily bobbing in his thin sleep shorts. Having Sherlock’s face pressed so close to his groin all night must have been a lot for his sleeping cock to handle. John sighed, pulling his erection free from his waistband, forcing it down, painfully, so as not to piss all over the toilet seat. He finished his business, tucking himself back into his shorts. John sighed in defeat after several attempts to hide his boner, letting it tent out proudly. He washed his hands and walked back into the living room, standing over Sherlock who was curled around a throw pillow, facing the back of the couch. John looked down at him, his tented shorts almost covering his face. John bit his lip as he imagined how Sherlock would look with his cock draped over his face. It was one of John’s favorite things to do, have his cock resting on someone's forehead. There was just something so pimally empowering about it. John’s cock spit out a small blob of pre, staining his shorts. He groaned and wrapped a hand around the middle of his shaft, squeezing slightly. He studied Sherlock’s face, relaxed in sleep. Curls wildly sticking up all around him, brows relaxed, no worry lines in his forehead, he looked more youthful than he had any right. John groaned softly, giving his cock a soft pump through the shorts.

 

_ Am I really going to do this? _ He asked. He looked at the curve of Sherlock’s dainty cheekbones, how it contrasted with the sharp edge of his jaw, then his gaze landed on his mouth. Sherlock’s wonderfully plump, pink,  _ distracting _ , mouth. 

 

_ Yes I am going to do this. _ John pulled his cock out without a second thought, a drop of precum flinging out and dropping to Sherlock’s hair. John wanted to cum in his hair. He wanted to rub his cock through those silky curls, feel them stroking around him. John bit his lip as he stroked faster, more specks of pre landing in Sherlock’s curls. It didn’t take him long before he was biting back a grunt and unashamedly shooting thick ropes of cum into Sherlock’s hair. He was gasping silently as the ordeal ended, staring at the white stripes contrasting the black. John’s cock however, was still hard, despite the thick load it had just produced. John was suddenly overcome with the urge to take a picture of this. To save it, because likely he wasn’t going to have the courage to do it again. John grabbed his phone off of the table beside the sofa and snapped a picture of his large hard cock leering over a cum covered mess of curls. He stared at the picture, willing himself to delete it, get a wash rag and try to get his cum out of Sherlock’s hair before he woke up. He urged himself to at least be ashamed at his actions. But he couldn’t. So he made coffee. 

  
  
  


Sherlock woke up about 30 minutes later, neck sore despite John’s efforts against it the night before. He blinked at the sun that was only just peeking over the rooftops through the window, rolling on his back and stretching, rubbing at his bleary eyes. 

 

_ Bless cold medicine. _ He thought. With creaky limbs, he stood from the sofa and turned towards the kitchen, enchanted by the smell of coffee. He ran a hand through his curls, wincing as they snagged on something knotting his hair together. He frowned, trying to work it out between his fingers, but whatever it was had dried in there good. He was just about to move his investigation to the bathroom where he could look in the mirror, when a pj clad, relaxed John padded out of the kitchen. 

 

“I made coffee.” He muttered in a soft growl, not wanting to shatter the delicate quiet of the early morning. Sherlock was immediately awake and aware of everything, including the new dried precum stain on John’s shorts. John just smiled at him, unaware, glancing at his hair.

 

“It’s all stuck up weird.” He commented, eyes lowering, cheeks tinting.

 

“Yes, I must have gotten something in it.” Sherlock muttered, glancing down again at the stain on John’s shorts, refusing to even consider it a possibility for the mess in his hair. 

 

“Must’ve.” John replied, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out two mugs, grabbing the bread loaf on the way back. “Go sit down, Sherl, I got this.” 

 

Sherlock didn’t argue, flushing softly at the pet name. He sat down at the table, knees to his chest, watching John fondly. This is what he liked most. Easy, soft, vulnerable mornings. There was nowhere pressing to be, no one to see, and as far as they knew, no clients dropping by. They could just coexist, working with and around each other. It was like a lazy dance that they both knew by heart. John was humming when he sat a plate of blueberry jam toast and a cup of coffee down on the table in front of Sherlock. He gave John an appreciative smile. They ate with minimal chatter, both of them enjoying the others company. It only lasted so long before Sherlock’s mobile abruptly started buzzing with a string of texts, falling to the floor from the table it was on in the living room. John cursed at their quiet moment being shattered, while Sherlock jumped up from his chair, practically tripping over his own feet in his eagerness to get to his phone.

 

“Lestrade?” John inquired, downing the rest of his coffee.

 

“Mm, they’ve ID’d the man with the Hebrew tattoo. His name was Nathan Schuttler, 45, two of his other colleagues..” Sherlock trailed off. John frowned, standing from his chair and rounding the corner to look at Sherlock. He’d gone a bit pale, jaw slack and eyes wide.

 

“Sherlock..?” John stepped towards him slowly. The taller man seemed to startle back into motion.

 

“Dead.” He finished, swallowing. He looked scared. No, not scared, nervous. 

 

“Do you know them?” 

 

“No. Lestrade wants us on the scene. The other two were discovered just an hour ago.” Sherlock pushed past John briskly, going to change.

 

“Alright, I’ll be ready in 15.”

 

“Ten please, John.” Sherlock called, before his door shut with a resounding bang.  John rolled his eyes but jogged upstairs.

 

“Ta.” He called over his shoulder. 

 

Inside his room, Sherlock was trying not to panic. He was sat on the floor in his dressing gown, knees pressed into his chest painfully with his fingernails digging into his arms. He was rocking slightly side to side, glaring a hole into the spot in the floor, his mind racing. 

 

_ This is bad. Understatement. This is terrible, horrific, the worst possible thing that could ever happen. It’s obvious these deaths linked to Joy, which means that John, and possibly myself, are also on that hit list. I have to protect John. I can’t let anything happen to him. But does that mean I have to out myself? I can't do that.. _

 

Sherlock bit the inside of his lip hard enough to tear a small chunk out.

 

_ If John’s life is in immediate danger, it doesn’t matter if he knows. So long as he is alive. Even if he ends up hating me for it.  _

Sherlock quickly went through several scenarios in which he tells John he was peeping in the toilets all those weeks ago. Sherlock accounts that he will most likely be angry. Physical violence is at a 40% chance. There is a 67% chance that he will leave. 58% chance that he will stay gone. However, it is possible John will not be angry. Sherlock doesn't think it's likely, but he calculates it anyway. Embarrassed: 68%. Hurt: 22%. Disgusted: 14%. Sherlock allows himself a small 6% chance that John would find it arousing. He does the math, and even the worst possible outcome is still better than John being dead. 

 

Sherlock groans, glaring down between his legs at his sex. 

 

_ This is all your fault. _ He thinks bitterly, jumping up and gathering his clothes. He’s dressed in record time, which is a good thing, because it takes ages for Sherlock to brush out whatever was in his hair. 

 

* * *

  
  


Sherlock was quite the whole cab ride. John was used to his sudden mood changes, but this one felt especially cold after he had just slept the night in John’s lap. When they arrived at the scene, Greg greeted them with a grim face. Sherlock barley stopped to be debriefed before he was marching past the police tape into the warehouse the men had been discovered in. While it was a wearhouse form the outside, inside it was completely furnished with a full bar and a small kitchenette. This was a venue for small events, but not cheap ones.

  
  


“Keith Berman, 25, and Johan Schultz, 30. Must’ve been dead for a while, ‘least a week.” Greg said, as Sherlock walked several paces ahead of them. “This building is unused except for the occasional corporate party. No one noticed anything until they started to stink up the block.” 

 

A man wearing a full body hazmat suit handed them all scrubs and masks before entering the building. The two men were on the top floor, strapped into chairs that were facing each other. Both of them were naked. With all of the blood on the bodies and the decomposition that had occured, it was difficult to tell the specifics, but Sherlock was quick to deduce. John confirmed Sherlock’s theory by a brief exam. They were beaten, strangled, limbs broken, several toes and fingers were crudely cut off with a pair of garden clippers that were laying in a puddle of dried blood adjacent to the bodies (no prints of course). But the most disturbing thing, was that both men were missing their genitals. The man on the left still had his testicles, but they were cut out of their sacs and dangling by the vas deferens. The cut off penises were unceremoniously shoved down the men’s throats. Every man in the room winced when they noticed.

 

“This is overkill. Flat out torture. Whoever did this wanted to send a clear message. But about what?” John muttered. Sherlock nodded and donned gloves before looking over the bodies with his magnifying glass. 

 

“Look.” Sherlock moved the man’s arm slightly, revealing a cleaner version of the tattoo Mr. Schuttler had on the inside of his bicep. John crouched as close as he dared to the decaying man’s armpit. They made eye contact, and silently moved to the body of the younger man. Sure enough, the inside of his elbow held the same tattoo. 

 

“What’s it mean?” Lestrade asked.

 

“Black Serpent, or something akin to that. My Hebrew is rusty.” Sherlock replied, standing up abruptly. “Right John, we’re done here.” he was quickly walking towards the door, leaving Lestrade flabbergasted.

 

“Thats is?” He demanded. “No brilliant deductions to solve the case in an hour or so?” He called hopefully after him, looking at John for support. John just shrugged.

 

“Sorry mate, I’ll let you know what he says.” John clapped him on the shoulder, following Sherlock out the door and trying to catch up with him on the stairs.

 

“Sherlock, hey wait a minute.” He called.

 

“We need to leave. Now, John.” Sherlock shouted back, not slowing his pace. John groaned and jogged after him, catching up on the main floor. 

 

“Why’s that? If there’s a bomb in the building, we should really tell the yard. I know you don't like most of them, but that's no reason to let them blow up.”

 

“There’s no bomb John.” He responded terse.

 

“A lead then? Do you know who did this?” John asked breathlessly, practically running beside him to keep up.

 

“No.” was all Sherlock said, eyes forward.

 

“No?” John asked, surprised, narrowly avoiding tripping over a rock. Sherlock had hailed a cab when John had righted himself. He climbed in after Sherlock.

 

“221 Baker st.” Sherlock told the cabbie, looking straight ahead.

 

“So what then? You have no ideas? No deductions? Is this seriously the case that has stumped Sherlock Holmes?” John probed. The detectives jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything. John stared at him for a few moments, flabbergasted. “Well.” He said quietly, sitting back into the seat with a disbelieving sigh.

 

The rest of the ride was quiet and tense. When they reached the flat, Sherlock jumped out of the cab, sticking John with the fare and rushing inside. John took his sweet time walking up the stairs, giving Sherlock some time to settle wherever he was going to have his tantrum. But when John walked in, he did not expect to see him sitting on the floor of his room, knees pulled up to his chest, shaking. John swallowed. He couldn’t tell if Sherlock was crying or just shivering, whatever the case, it was concerning. John pulled the Afghani off of the sofa, walking quietly down the hall, keeping a cautious eye on Sherlock the whole way, waiting for him to spook. However, Sherlock didn’t move when John laid the blanket over his shoulders. He didn’t move when John sat down next to him, rubbing soft circles into his back until he returned from wherever he was. It was almost an hour before he saw any life. His legs had fallen asleep and his arm was tired, but when Sherlock took in a small gasp of air, shifting slightly, he was alert again.

 

“Sherlock..?” He asked, scooching closer to Sherlock and wrapping his arm across his thin shoulders, squeezing softly. Sherlock curled his lip and didn’t make eye contact. John sighed, continuing his gentle touches until Sherlock’s expression softened. When he finally looked into John’s eyes, John was taken aback by the pain and vulnerability he saw.

 

“Sherl.” He tried again. This time, Sherlock’s face crumpled, brows knitting together and tears filling his eyes, but not falling. John bit his lip, brushing a stray curl out of the man's face, trying to ignore how close their faces were.

 

“John I think you’re in danger.” He said quietly. John gulped, looking down to the floor.

 

“What makes you say that?” He asked cautiously. Sherlock clenched his jaw, shaking his head slightly, before his face hardened and his eyes turned into void pools of bluegreen. John watched in dismay as the man before him put up his walls and prepared for a conflict.

 

“You know why.” Was all he said. And John could guess. He guessed that Sherlock knew that he had seen Schuttler, Berman, and Shultz at some point during his sexual exploits. John flushed slightly.

 

“I mean, I kind of do.” John prompted. Sherlock sent him a hard look, then pointedly moved his gaze to the spot on the floor. 

 

“From the toilets.” it was quiet, almost shy, and John didn’t quite comprehend. But then it registered and-  _ wait. _

 

“Hold on.. How did you know they were from the toilets?” John asked cautiously. Sherlock tensed a little, still staring at the spot on the floor. 

 

“I… Followed you.” He responded through grit teeth. John’s first reaction was to be angry,  _ because why Sherlock? Why did you have to follow me to a fucking cruising site? Do I not have any privacy? _ But then he remembered that he’d given up hope for privacy with Sherlock a long time ago. After the anger, John couldn't help but think:  _ What did he see? _ That thought was both terrifying and exciting at the same time, the flurry of emotions was making John dizzy. He didn’t realize he’d taken so long to respond. Sherlock definitely looked like he was about to cry now, the tears threatening to spill over, but his face was still a tight mask. John’s heart clenched and he bit his lip.

 

“Well. Thats. Uh. Oh, Bollocks.” John wiped a hand down his face, uncrossing his legs and planting his feet on the floor to start the blood flow back. He glanced over to Sherlock who’s throat looked tight, nostrils flared, eyes red. He was trembling again, and it took John a few seconds to realize that Sherlock was holding his breath. John felt so helpless. Here was Sherlock on the verge of a breakdown, and he was so tongue twisted that he didn’t even know what to say to the situation, let alone ease the man’s obvious discomfort. 

 

“It’s okay, Sherl.” John murmured quietly, once again swiping a stray curl away from Sherlock’s temple, tucking it behind his ear. And that’s when Sherlock lost it. He let out an ugly, breathless sob, his shoulders shaking, snot beginning to run out of his nose. John went into panic mode and pulled the man to his chest, shushing and running light touches down his back. Sherlock didn’t stop crying for several agonizing minutes, long enough for John to maneuver them so that he was leaning against his bed with Sherlock curled up into his shoulder, sat between John’s legs. Any other day, the younger man would be awry with erotic thoughts from his proximity to the man in all of his fantasies. But now, Sherlock was so worn out and emotionally drained, he could barely muster the strength to enjoy the warm embrace John offered. But it made Sherlock confused. This was not something he calculated for. He was expecting John to be angry with him, and perhaps he was, but he wasn’t angry enough to resort to violence, or leave. He might be embarrassed, which was most likely given the current situation and the expression Sherlock had seen out of the corner of his eye. But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t shouted. He hadn’t reacted in any way Sherlock had been prepared for, so he just sat there, dumbly. John’s shirt was wet from his tears and snot, if he had the energy, maybe he would be embarrassed for showing such weakness to John. But with John whispering that it was alright, his hand gently tracing his gaunt spine, Sherlock just passed out. 


	7. Makeup Kiss

Sherlock woke up in his bed several hours later, the mid afternoon sun filtering through his curtains, warming the duvet that was tucked over his body to a pleasant temperature. He was curled around a pillow, legs wrapped around it and all. He realized John must have removed his shoes and belt before putting him to bed, the thought made heat creep up his neck and a small smile grace his lips. The door was left cracked open, and beyond it, he could hear John tapping away at his laptop in the living room. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, reveling in the comfort of his feathery bed and the reassuring domestic sounds of his flatmate. He must have dozed a bit more, because when he opened his eyes again, the sun was lower in the sky, casting the room in a soft gold. John was setting a glass of water and an aspirin on his night stand, he turned to look at Sherlock, hands on his hips, expression un-readable. Sherlock’s half open eyes were hidden behind his hair, he used this to his advantage, observing John. He stood next to Sherlock’s bed for a few minutes before biting his lip, cautiously reaching towards his face. Sherlock quickly shut his eyes just in time for John to smooth his hair out of his face. John’s fingers didn’t stop there, lightly tracing over his cheek bones, running a finger down his nose and back, and then he was tucking a fallen strand of hair behind his ear. Sherlock couldn’t fein sleep any longer, not with John petting him like that. Sherlock opened his eyes, taking in John who was leaned over the edge of the bed, almost hovering over him, cupping his jaw tenderly.

 

John froze when Sherlock met his gaze, caught red handed. He quickly pulled away and straightened up, making frantic, anxious movements with his hands, mumbling things that were probably supposed to be words, but never quite formed. 

 

“I got you some water.” He managed finally. Sherlock blinked at him, heart squeezing. Because John knew now. He knew that he’d followed him to the toilets, that he’d seen what John did to the poor sub that was in the stall. He knew that Sherlock was a horrendous, peeping pervert. But he was still here.

 

“Thank you.” Was all he responded, still gazing up at John, unmoving. John bit his cheek and nodded once, then moved to walk out of the room. Sherlock sat up, letting the covers fall to his waist.

 

“John, wait.” he called, reaching out towards him. John stopped just short of the door, turning hesitantly back towards the too-thin man on the bed. Sherlock swallowed, lowering his hand and his eyes. “We should… talk.”

 

“Yeah..” John trailed off, scratching at the back of his neck. Sherlock cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

 

“I’m sorry I followed you.” He started. John let out a barking laugh, Sherlock didn’t know what that meant.

 

“S’alright. I’m used to that.” he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. Neither man attempted eye contact, both of their gazes trained on the floor. 

 

“But still. I was wrong to do so.” Sherlock silently pleaded, for what, he had no idea. 

 

“There’s a lot of stuff that you do that isn’t exactly okay.” John snorted. Sherlock shrunk in on himself from the comment, pulling the pillow into his lap and hiding behind it. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He tried again, voice small. John looked up and saw the change in posture, his face becoming concerned. He took a step towards the bed, but stopped, still hesitant. 

 

“Honestly Sherlock, I’m not angry. Not about that.” he tried to soothe. Sherlock stubbornly turned his head to the side, shoulders hunching. 

 

“Then what are you angry about?”

 

‘’What? Nothing. What is there to be angry about?” John asked, taking a few more steps towards the bed until he was at the farthest corner. Sherlock flushed with shame and willed his voice not to break. 

 

_ He deserves to know.  _

 

“For… Watching.” Sherlock said, almost in a whisper. John blanched, he had hoped Sherlock didn’t see anything, but of course, the mad detective would not be content to just survey the door. He awkwardly took a seat on the corner of the bed.

 

“Yeah well.. I wasn’t sure what you’d seen. I’m not ashamed of that side of me, it's just, rather private.” John stared at his hands. Sherlock snorted.

 

“Not very ‘private’ when you’re shagging random blokes from a hookup site.” Sherlock muttered with a small smile. A ferocious giggle bubbled its way up John’s throat, shaking the bed with his laughter, wheezing. It was infectious, and soon Sherlock was laughing too. Not as hard, but there was a smile on his face, and he wasn’t hiding behind his pillow anymore. John took a few breaths to calm himself and dabbed at a tear in his eye. He looked over to Sherlock with a silly grin on his face, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. John was the first to look away, moving his gaze back down to his fidgeting hands. 

 

“So you don’t think I’m a disgusting pervert who needs to be locked up for sexual deviance?” He asked. Sherlock snorted again.

 

_ The irony here is tangible. _ He thought with a shake of his head.

 

“John I-” His throat closed suddenly, like a last ditch effort to protect him from outing himself. He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, a stinging blush erupting up his neck and chest. He quickly ran through every scenario where this could end badly, and after that, the good ones. But even on the slightest chance that John has a positive reaction, there was still one thing.

 

_ He doesn’t know I’m trans. _

 

He turned his head away from John again, losing his nerve with each passing second. But then John’s hand was on his knee over the duvet, and he was looking at him with all of the concern and support he could convey. Sherlock swallowed hard again, and blurt it out. 

 

“I fancy you John.” His jaw clenched shut immediately. That was not what he was going to say, but he supposed it was sufficient enough. He refused to look at John’s face. He wasn’t sure what reaction he would have, he wasn’t even sure what reaction he wanted John to have. 

 

_ I should have weighed my odds more before just announcing something like that! I have no control over this situation, he could leave right now. He could walk out and never want to come back. Or worse, even. The feelings aren’t mutual, but he stays. What will I do? What on earth will I do if he doesn’t return my sentiments, but still wants to share a flat? How does one cope with something like that? _

 

But he knew what would happen, what was going to happen when John inevitably does not return his feeling in any way, shape, or form. And it was sitting under the floorboards of his room, whispering to him.

 

But of course. John never ceased to be the most unpredictable person Sherlock had ever met. 

 

“Y-you do?” he asked in disbelief. Sherlock dared a glance at his face and was utterly shocked at what he saw. John was so gloriously confused, as if he couldn’t fathom the possibility that Sherlock Holmes would  _ fancy _ him. 

 

“Of course I do.” Sherlock found himself scoffing. It was John’s turn to blush, looking everywhere but Sherlock.

 

“But I thought- I didn’t- You’re not-” John tried. “What?” He finally managed, now looking into Sherlock’s eyes, trying to spy the trick. Suddenly his nose scrunched up. “You do know what that means, don’t you?” 

 

Sherlock kicked him in the thigh, offended. 

 

“I’m not an idiot John, that’s your role.” He shot back. John just shook his head again, raising his hands in the defensive.

 

“I had to make sure, ‘Lock. You deleted the solar system.” John cracked a smile at him, turning to face Sherlock on the bed, crossing his legs before him. Sherlock huffed his defense, and they bickered good naturedly for a few minutes, the tension of the conversation easing, little by little. Sherlock was still sat hugging his pillow, but his posture was relaxed and open. John sobered slightly, taking him in.

 

“I have a few questions, if you don’t mind?” He asked softly. Sherlock sighed, anxiety creeping through his bones, but nodded his consent.

 

“I- well. I didn’t know you were interested in things like that.” John said lamely. Sherlock quirked a brow at him.

 

“That wasn’t a question, John.”

 

“Don’t be a git, you know what I mean.” John pushed his knee playfully.

 

“You have very powerful persuasive abilities that I’m not sure you’re aware of John.” Sherlock replied, as if that answered anything.

 

“So you’re saying you went from asexual to fancying me, because I unknowingly persuaded you into it?” John repeated back with a blank look. Sherlock made a noise of frustration that was solely reserved for when John was being thick. 

 

“I never identified as asexual. I’m not sure I ever put a label on my sexual preferences, now that I’m being asked for one.”

 

“You you do have one then? A preference?” John nibbled his lip.

 

“Yes. Cock.” He said it with a straight face, completely serious. Yet once again, the complete and utter absurdness of the entire situation, and the fact that Sherlock  _ Bloody _ Holmes just told him he liked cock, set John off on a small giggle fit. Sherlock found himself laughing softly as well. 

 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” John told him, fondly. Sherlock’s cheeks tinged a light sherbert, and John decided that pink was a rather lovely shade on Sherlock’s skin. 

 

“I’ve been told that a few times.” They sat there for a few moments while John thought of more questions.

 

“So, I’m guessing that means you have experience, then?” John probed softly.

 

“Yes, unfortunately,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Uni, I shared a room with him. He told me I was handsome, no one had ever said that to me before. We went to parties together, we only had sex twice, I never found it stimulating enough to attempt a third, I just stuck to cocaine.” Sherlock told him. He watched John absorb the information, trying to read the different things that flitted across his face. 

 

“And that's all?” he asked finally. Sherlock nodded. John blew his cheeks out, looking nervous again. “I don’t think I realized how much of a slut I’ve been until just now.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

 

“You’re not a slut John. It’s understandable that a man of your… tastes, would need multiple partners to satisfy your desires.” They were both blushing again, John winced slightly.

 

“Yeah, uh about my tastes..”

 

“It’s fine John.”

 

“Well, I just mean, I’m not like that all the time-”

 

“I know.”

 

“- I like vanilla sex just fine. Not that i'm insinuating that you even want to have sex with me-”

 

“John.”

 

“- I mean I would like to, of course but it’s not necessary. We don’t have to, I mean, Christ we haven’t even kissed yet- Mphh!”  

 

Sherlock abandoned the pillow, leaned across the small space that separated them, and pulled John’s mouth down to his. It was a rough, awkward kiss that made their noses bump together uncomfortably, but it shut John up and that was all he was aiming for. He backed off a few centimeters, leaving his hand on John’s neck, reveling in the feeling of the short, soft hair that brushed his fingers. John’s small warm hand cupped his jaw, and suddenly they were looking into each other’s eyes, noses and foreheads pressed together.

 

“You know?” John asked, barely a whisper.

 

“Yes John. You really have _ nothing _ to worry about.” Sherlock responded, equally as quiet and tender. John’s eyes slipped closed and he pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. Warm, soft, and perfect against this mouth, Sherlock slipped his eyes closed as well and leaned in. For a few moments, all they did was hold each others faces and enjoy the warmth were their lips connected. John pulled back a little, his nose sliding beside Sherlock’s. They kept their eyes closed and breathed eachothers air for a few moments. Something was nagging at the back of John’s mind. And eventually he couldn't keep it to himself anymore.

 

“So… You saw. You watched. Did you- *ahem*, did you… What did you think?” John asked nervously. He was surprised when he practically felt the heat from Sherlock’s blush against his face. Sherlock pulled back a little, eyes down cast, clutching at his sheets. John pulled his hand away from the other man's neck, giving him his space, but not moving away.

 

“Well. It was… quite the show.” He muttered, ears practically glowing red under his curls. John laughed nervously, training his eyes on Sherlock’s fiddling fingers. 

 

“So, you liked what you saw?” He prompted.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock responded, perhaps a bit too quickly. He swallowed against the knot slowly forming in his throat. “I might have, over enjoyed myself a bit.” The last part was whispered so sweetly, it went straight to John’s cock. He groaned softly, enjoying the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

 

“How so?” John tried. Proud of how steady his voice was. Sherlock’s fingers twisted the duvet so sharply his fingers cracked, John laid a hand over them, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. Their eyes met briefly and Sherlock was startled at the change in John’s expression. He had gone from nervous and cautious, to intense and smouldering in three seconds flat. The heat in his eyes left Sherlock breathless, dizzy almost.

 

“I-I..” He stuttered helplessly. John squeezed his hand, reaching up for Sherlock’s face with the other.

 

“C’mon love, you can tell me.” He spoke gently, running his fingers over Sherlock’s cheeks, pulling at his lip with his thumb before threading his fingers into Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of the man’s blunt fingers scraping his scalp, eyes falling shut.

 

“I… may or may not have gotten off outside of the window.” He bit his lip. John let out a deep chuckle, leaning forward to pull Sherlock’s lip into his mouth with his own teeth, causing the younger man to gasp. 

 

“You dirty bird.” John whispered hotly against his moist lips. Sherlock let out a weak sound, fumbling with his hands on the duvet to grasp ahold of John’s shoulders.

 

“I know..” Sherlock whined out. John pushed on his shoulder slightly, a silent question in his eyes. Sherlock nodded and let John push him down to the matress, let him crawl between his spread legs and pepper kisses down his jaw. Sherlock clutched at him and gasped, unused to the intimate contact. John placed his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head, hips pressed fully against his. Sherlock panicked slightly, seeing as he hadn’t told John about his... situation, yet. But then John was kissing him again and his didn’t care. He threw his arms around John’s neck, letting him lead the kiss. Sherlock had kissed more times than he’d had sex, but he was by no rights well practiced. John must have noticed his inexperienced floundering, because he slowed down the already leisurely kiss and it became a sweet wet slide of soft lips and quiet breaths. Sherlock thread his fingers into John’s soft hair, reveling in the feeling of finally being allowed to touch him. The slim fingers weaving through his hair made John shudder against him, minutely thrusting his hips down into Sherlock’s. 

 

Before Sherlock could pull back and try to have the conversation before it became moot, John’s tongue swiped lazily over his bottom lip. Sherlock gasped hotly into his mouth, letting his lips part for John to explore. He started slow, going back and forth between teasing Sherlock’s lips with his tongue and wet closed mouth kisses. Sherlock was aware of how wet he was. His cock was pushing painfully against his underwear, the hood pulled back in his arousal, exposing the overly sensitive head to the silk of his briefs. John started making his tongue kisses more aggressive, prodding into Sherlock’s mouth. The first time their tongues met, the younger man keened. He hookeda leg over John’s and pushing his cunt up into his hard cock, his own sliding against the slick in his pants. Even through all of their layers of clothes, he could feel the heat of it. John kissed him for a few minutes longer, it seemed almost like a punishment with how intense it was, and by the time John pulled away with a pleasant flush staining his cheeks, Sherlock was a mess.

 

His chest heaving slightly, mouth open and gasping, lips wet and swollen, hair a tangled jungle of curls, and a pretty flush starting all the way from his chest going to the tips of his ears. If it weren't January in London, John would have sworn that he had a sunburn from how bright the color was. John maneuvered so that he was propped up on his elbow over Sherlock, leaving one hand free to trace the bones of his face. 

 

“John..” Sherlock groaned softly, pulling his head down so they were touching from nose tips to foreheads, breathing in eachothers air.

 

“Yes, Sherlock?” John replied lowly with a shit eating grin splitting across his face. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed, enjoying their proximity.

 

“I have to-”

 

**_Brrrrrz Brrrrrz Brrrrrz *_ ** **Thunk*** **_Brrrrrz_ **

 

Sherlock’s mobile received a string of texts, causing it to vibrate loudly off of the table. John sighed, pressing his forehead into Sherlock’s shoulder, pressing a small kiss into his collar bone. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s broad shoulders and they held each other for a few moments, before John sighed again, sitting up on his knees in between Sherlock’s now spread legs.

 

“Dammit” He grumbled. Sherlock’s phone let out two more obnoxious buzzes, almost in response, before falling silent.

 

“That’ll be Lestrade.” Sherlock whispered, not meeting John’s eyes.

 

“Yeah.” John sounded remorseful. “We’ll continue this later?” He asked hopefully, turning Sherlock’s jaw so that he was looking up at his face.

 

“Of course.” Sherlock whispered. And then the tender moment faded, they begrudgingly stood from the bed and righted their clothing, Sherlock checked his texts, and then they were off again.


	8. A Deadly Punishment

Lestrade’s texts were frantic but vague.

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:34 pm:** We found a body

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:34 pm:** It’s pretty bad, poor bastard’s been dead for over a month

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:34 pm:** Forensics think he might be a teenager

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:34 pm:** Waiting on dentals

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:37 pm:** Please hurry

 

**_Lestrade_ ** **6:37 pm:** This case is giving me the a bad feeling :/

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the emoji and responded.

 

**_Sherlock_ ** **6:43 pm:** Were on our way. Address? SH

Sherlock repeated the address to the cabbie and they were off.

 

“Same case?” John asked once they were on the road. Sherlock hummed.

 

“It seems Lestrade thinks so. Dead male, possibly teenager, time of death was several weeks at the least.” The cabbie gave them a look in the mirror, but otherwise said nothing. John looked pale.

 

“A kid this time huh? Fuck.” He bit his lip and looked out the window at the darkening streets of the city. The street lamps were starting to turn on. Within 15 minutes they were at the scene. They pulled up to a nice looking house, obviously upper middle class. The small yard was taped off with police tape, officers milling about the grass, looking grim. Anderson came barreling out of the house clutching his stomach and his mouth, before spewing into the bushes next to the steps. Lestrade followed behind him, looking a bit green as well. He spotted them from across the lawn and motioned for them.

 

“Details.” Sherlock commanded, as Lestrade led them into the foyer of the house where a team handed them scrubs and masks.

 

“The house belongs to Mr and Mrs. Joy-Turing, they have three children, Max Joy, 17,”

 

“The body.” Sherlock’s stomach dropped when he head their last name, his mind connecting several dots. Sometimes he hated being right.

 

“Most likely.” Lestrade grimace. “And then Taylor and Harmony Turing, who are both in their 20’s, living in Cardiff. The parents were staying in their vacation home in California for the past few months.The neighbors called in the body, complaining about the smell. We called the  Turrings and they gave us verbal permission to search the house. They’re on a plane in as we speak. ” 

 

They trudged up the stairs and the smell of rotting flesh became more apparent. They walked down a corridor and turned into the last door on the right. Someone was taking pictures of the body and another was marking down evidence with plastic numbers. Sherlock told them to leave.

 

The body on the bed was a bloated and disfigured, completely naked save for the ropes that were artfully wrapped around the him, tying the boy up into a painful looking hog tie. Any chance that this was a masturbation experiment gone wrong was immediately disqualified. Sherlock looked to John, watching the realization and horror come over his masked face.

 

“I need to- I can’t- Fuck, I’m sorry.” He rushed out of the room, leaving Lestrade and Sherlock alone in the room.

 

“Didn’t think he would be squeamish about this one.” Lestrade muttered. Sherlock acknowledged the irony darkly, but he knew exactly why John ran. He bit his cheek and refrained from going after him, and instead focused on the body. The ropes had been tied too tight, leaving bruises on the boy’s yellowed grey skin. His neck and hair had been tied tightly, forcing his head back to meet the soles of his feet, spine bent almost impossibly. Sherlock donned gloves, walking around the body. The gag in his throat was either a long cock gag, or more likely someone had shoved a dildo down his throat before buckling the gag in place. The bed was soiled with both urine and feces.

 

“This was a punishment. Who ever tied him up hadn’t intended to kill him, that was an accident.” Sherlock muttered, running his fingers down the boys throat, feeling  for where the dildo ended, but he couldn’t find it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. 

 

“You know him.” It wasn't a question, more like an acquisition.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock responded.

 

“And so does John.” Lestrade concluded. Sherlock nodded stiffly and continued his examination.

 

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the gag shoved in his mouth. Lestrade crossed his arms and nodded. Sherlock unbuckled the gag, and immediately a thick foot long double ended dildo projected out of his throat, a pile of maggots and decaying bile following it. Sherlock’s stomach lurched and he jerked away, falling over his own feet and landing on his ass with an undignified yelp. Lestrade was in the door frame facing the hallway, breathing heavily. 

 

“Jesus bloody fuck, how in the hell was that not supposed to kill him?!” Lestrade gasped. Sherlock collected himself and stood on shaky feet, moving past Lestrade and out the door,

 

“Max Joy was in an unlawful relationship with an older man. Mid 30’s to early 40’s. The man wasn’t around very often, possibly married with a family, more likely he was a man of business and was away quite a bit. In order to fill his sexual appetite and irk the man’s possessive tendencies, Joy would hook up with random men. This time was the last straw. The man got too angry. For his punishment, he tied up Joy painfully and left him there like that. He neglected to check in on him, and when he came up and found that Joy suffocated on the dildo, he panicked. He blamed Berman, Schultz, Schuttler for making him go too far and kill his toy. So he sought revenge. He confronted Schuttler first, the man ran, but that didn’t save him. With the news of their group leader being killed off, Berman and Schultz laid low, but they weren’t able to hide forever. The message the killer was trying to send, was ‘don’t touch my property’.” Sherlock fired off his deductions as they walked down stairs.

 

“Okay yeah that makes sense.” Lestrade muttered. “But that doesn’t tell us who did it, Sherlock. Or what about those tattoos?” Lestrade asked as they walked out onto the front steps. John sat on the bottom step with his head between his knees. 

 

“The catering venue where the other two were killed, get me a list of all of the companies that use that space regularly, our killer is most likely an important figure in one of them.” Sherlock responded, leaning down and touching John lightly on the shoulder. John looked up at him, a pained expression on his face.

 

“Christ this is a load of bollocks.” Lestrade muttered, rubbing a hand down his tired face, looking at John worriedly. He paused, then motioned for them to follow him around the side of the house. There was a long viney plant crawling it’s way up the brick and the gutters that Sherlock’s recognized. They’d had one growing on his childhood home, in the spring they grew dainty purple flowers that mummy liked to put in his hair. Once they were secured away from prying ears, Lestrade let out a sigh.

 

“So, please, I don’t need all of the details, but I would really appreciate a better picture of what’s going on here.” He looked to John, who gulped and shook his head slightly.

 

“I had no idea he was 17.” he responded weakly.

 

“So what happened?” Lestrade prompted. John gave Sherlock a pleading look, but his involvement at the toilets was not something Sherlock wanted Lestrade privy to.

 

“He put up an ad on Cruiser. The toilets down the street from our flat. The other three didn’t respond to the ad, but myself and an older black man did. Joy was-” John choked a little bit. “He was in the stall alone. The other guy left before I came in. Joy asked if i would… join him in his stall, I agreed. When I was done and turned to leave, Berman, Schultz, and Schuttler were standing in the stall door. I told them to have fun, and then I left. I hadn’t seen or talked to any of them until they were found dead.”

 

Lestrade leaned back against the side of the house.

 

“Thank you, that helps. No one needs to know you’re involvement, John. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Lestrade assured, John sent him a weak appreciative smile. “So you and the other man are also probable targets, seeing as you responded to the post. And you said you couldn’t find Schuttler’s profile on the site?” 

 

“No, I looked two weeks in either direction, nothing.” John replied, sounding defeated.

 

“I haven’t.” Sherlock piped up. Lestrade let out a barking laugh and John blushed a little.

 

“Yeah well, don’t bother. They’re already dead. Nothing to prevent now.” Lestrade tried to dissuade Sherlock from snooping through John’s cruising profile, which John appreciated.

 

“Well of course, but the other man and John are still in danger. Who knows who else? I need to do some digging.” Sherlock mused, walking back towards the front of the house. Lestrade sent John an apologetic look, but John just sighed.

 

“Nothing he wouldn't have found looking through my computer on any other day.” He muttered, making Lestrade smirk.


	9. Breaking Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long awaited smut for the next probably four chapters

Sherlock was silent in the cab back, and when they reached 221B, he was already pulled inside of his mind palace. The moment they walked in the door, he shed his coat and started pacing. John decided to wait it out by making some tea, then realized Sherlock hadn’t eaten at all that day, and started frying him up a ham sandwich. When he wandered back into the living room with a tray of food, Sherlock was barefoot and crouched on the end of the sofa, fingers steepled under his chin. His closed eyes cracked open at John’s arrival, but he otherwise didn’t react.

 

“I made you a cuppa and a sandwich.” John told him, setting his food down on the table in front of him, then leaning down and pressing a kiss into the crown of his head.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock responded. John straightened and gave him a curious look.

 

“What for?” he pressed.

 

“For.. for Joy. He didn’t deserve that.” Sherlock said quietly. John swallowed back bile at the image of that poor boy tied up and bloated with postmortem gasses.

 

“Yeah, it’s shitty.” Was all John could say. He sat on the sofa next to Sherlock, tentatively resting his head on the man's shoulder. Sherlock made a small content noise in the back of his throat and they sat there for a few moments.

 

“You’re food’s getting cold.” John reminded. 

 

“John I’m transgender.” Sherlock blurted out. 

 

“What?” John sat up from his position and moved so that he was facing Sherlock on the sofa. Sherlock remained facing forwards, gaze fixed on something on the wall that the other man couldn’t see. Sherlock didn’t respond, waiting for the information to sink in, waiting for John to recoil back in repulsion, or at the very least, be extremely weirded out and not want to continue any sort of romantic/sexual relationship with him. But of course. John will always be John.

 

“I guess… that sort of makes sense actually.” John pondered. Sherlock finally looked at him, his expression borderlining shocked and offended.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He demanded. John chuckled at him fondly, reaching up to stroke down his arm.

 

“Well, it just does. I’m not shocked, anyway. You would find the way to be out of the binary in every way possible.” he smiled at Sherlock, who looked away, a blush tinting his cheeks.

 

“Well. Either way, I- I understand if you would rather not continue our activities from this morning, given the new information.” he finished quietly, sinking in on himself. John shook his head.

 

“You’re a prat, you know that?” he asked. Sherlock shrugged. “I’m bisexual, you know. Not that that really has anything to do with it, because you being trans wouldn’t have made a difference either way. I’m mad for you Sherl’,” Sherlock flushed prettily at the confession, tucking his chin to his chest. “Although, I will say, I’ve always wondered what your cock looked like. Now I guess I’ll never know.” John sighed dramatically with a smile on his face, leaning into Sherlock’s side playfully, almost knocking him over. 

 

“I do too have a cock,” Sherlock scoffed, offended. “And I’m quite proud of it, I’ll have you know.” He stuck his chin up, not realizing John would take that opportunity to press a tickling kiss under his jaw. Sherlock squeaked and fell over onto the arm of the sofa, but John was unrelenting, crowding him awkwardly at the end of the sofa, dotting his jaw and neck with small kisses until Sherlock was giggling.

 

“Well in that case, * _ kiss _ * I guess I’ll have to have a look. * _ kiss kiss _ * As a medical professional,  _ *kiss*  _ you know.” John nipped at Sherlock’s adams apple and sucked at the soft skin of his throat. “Just to make sure everything looks alright.” He finished after sucking a bruise into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock whined out a desperate ‘yes’, bones turning into liquid as he draped himself backwards over the arm of the sofa. John pulled away in surprise at the lusty moan that just came from his mouth.

 

“ _ Sherlock _ …” He breathed, running his fingers over the soft material of one of Sherlock’s soft-shiny-fuck-me button ups that made him look like a snack. John’s hands explored the younger man’s taut stomach, brushing up his ribs and across his pecs to his shoulders. Sherlock whined again, hands coming up to grip at John’s arms. John took the opportunity to pull Sherlock back upright, the speed of the accent made Sherlock dizzy, and it didn’t help when John’s lips descended on his, tongue demanding entrance. 

 

“John, John,  _ John _ ~” Sherlock moaned against his lips, drunk on the rush of arousal that was running through his veins. John practically growled in response, roughly grabbing at Sherlock’s hip with one hand, and his hair with the other. It toppled them off balance, but John didn’t complain when Sherlock grappled at him and and he ended up on his back with Sherlock in his lap. Their legs tangled in a way that pressed John’s thick hardening cock into Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock stopped his rapid projection with his hands on either side of John’s head, only just preventing them from conking heads and having to stop for any stupid reason John would come up with. For a moment, Sherlock just stared down at John in disbelief. This was John.  _ His John _ . John’s legs wrapped around his, John’s hand on his waist, John’s fingers tangled in his hair, John’s  _ massive cock _ pressing into his hip. And for a moment, he felt so utterly lost, completely out of his element, a sliver of panic choked up his throat. John’s intense gaze softened at the panicked look that crossed his face, a small, private smile gracing his lips as he squeezed Sherlock’s hips gently.

 

“Hey,” he said, then pulled Sherlock’s forehead against his, running his fingers through the soft downy hairs at the nape of his neck. Sherlock’s curls framed the sides of their faces, acting like blackout curtains against anything that wasn't them. “Take a breath.” John instructed, running his fingers lightly over the base of his spine. Sherlock obeyed, closing his eyes, body relaxing as he exhaled. They sat there for a few moments.

 

“You alright?” John asked, now making long strokes up Sherlock’s back. Sherlock hummed, his eyes opening.

 

“It's just… for the first time in my life I find myself completely unsure of what to do.” He admitted softly. John’s eyes crinkled, the tell tale sign of a smile on his lips.

 

“That’s quite alright, love. We can stop anytime you need to.” He assured. 

 

“I don’t want to stop, John.” Sherlock whispered. John’s grin spread and he pressed a quick kiss into Sherlock’s mouth.

 

“Either way is good for me.”

 

Sherlock moaned, maneuvering down to his elbows and pressing his lips to John’s again, giving an experimental thrust of his hips against John’s. John groaned, tightening his grip in Sherlock’s hair only enough to cause a pleasant sting. They kissed like that for several minutes, grabbing at each other, rolling their hips. By the time they pulled away for air, Sherlock was a gasping mess, cock throbbing against the seam of his pants. He rested his forehead against John’s chest, enjoying the slightly labored rise and fall of his breathing. 

 

“Should we take this to your room?” John asked into his hair. Sherlock was on his feet and tugging John down the hallway before he even knew what happened. The blackness of his room was disorenting, so John was glad when Sherlock turned on the lamp on the nightstand, casting the room in a soft orange glow. Sherlock climbed onto the middle of the bed, then laid back against the pillows, looking at John shyly. John smirked and pulled off his jumper, leaving only his white vest tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock bit his lip, taking in the sight of John’s newly exposed skin, the puckered scar of his bullet wound. He appreciated how fit John kept, despite his age. 

 

“Take off your shirt, love.” John muttered to him, voice gruff with arousal. Sherlock obeyed, maintaining eye contact while slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. There was no undershirt between the silk button up and his bare skin, and John drank in each inch of pale skin that was exposed. When all of the buttons had been undone, Sherlock sat up and tipped his shoulder back, letting the silk material slide off of him and pool at his wrists around him. 

 

John watched him with heat in his eyes, undoing his belt slowly and deliberately, taking in Sherlock’s alabaster skin, noting the light dusting of freckles across his shoulders for the first time. John all of a sudden couldn’t stand that he wasn’t right next to Sherlock on the bed, so he toed off his socks and climbed the small span of bed towards Sherlock. The younger man felt heat flood between his legs at the sight, and by the time John was crouched over him, he was sure he was soaked through his briefs. John pushed Sherlock’s legs apart and crawled between them, his arms framing Sherlock’s head. Sherlock reached up tenitavely, running one hand down John’s chest, cursing the thin layer of clothing over his skin, and threading the fingers of his other hand through John’s short hair. John’s breath caught as Sherlock looked up at him, wide eyed and nervous, but at the same time totally eager and wanting. 

 

“Christ, Sherl’.” he murmured, shifting his weight to one hand so that he could brush a few stray curls out of the younger mans face and cup his jaw. Sherlock made a small needy sound at the touch and the tenderness of John’s voice. “I want to touch you.” John whispered, leaning down and pressing a deep kiss into Sherlock’s lips.

 

“Please~!” Sherlock moaned as their lips parted, wet and hot. John responded with a groan, tangling his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and kissing down his jaw, nipping at his throat, sucking small bruises into his neck.

 

“This okay?” He asked, sucking softly at Sherlock’s pulse point. Sherlock arched into him, frantically clutching at his broad shoulders. 

 

“Ye~ss  _ pleaseJohnpleaseI’myours.”  _ He keened, fingers digging into the skin of John’s back, urging him to be rougher. John got the hint, yanking slightly on Sherlock’s hair, forcing him to bare his neck to John’s hungry mouth. Sherlock’s legs wrapped around his hips as John savagely bit into the junction of his shoulder, pulling the soft skin into his mouth with a brutal suction, teasing the ultra sensitive skin with his frantic tongue. Sherlock pushed his hips up into John’s as the older man left several dark kiss marks across his shoulder.

 

“Off, John~.” Sherlock moaned, pulling at the worn out material that still covered John’s back. John chuckled lowly, sitting up on his knees and pulling the vest off over his head. Sherlock’s hands were immediately on his skin, rubbing down his shoulders, pecs, over his ribs. John stared down at the man beneath him, hair a wild mess of silky black curls, kiss swollen lips parted and gasping, that lovely rose blush creeping up his neck, complementing the constellation of kiss marks he’d just left on his skin. John decided to add more, leaning back down onto his hands, kissing and nipping down Sherlock’s chest, stopping at his nipples and sucking one into his mouth. Sherlock’s back arched clear off of the bed, his hands flying to John’s hair, gripping it tight at the onslaught of pleasure that he was causing him. John ran his tongue over Sherlock’s mastectomy scars, only just now noticing them, thumbing over both of his nipples. He kissed and bit his way across Sherlock’s ribs and stomach, leaving behind as many marks as Sherlock could tolerate. He stopped when he got to the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers, nosing through the cute trail of hair that led down past the waistband. John looked up at the flushed keening man, hands on his hips trying to steady Sherlock’s sporadic bucking.

 

“Shhh, love, it’s alright.” John murmured, stroking his thumbs over the protruding hip bones. “D’ya need a break?” He asked.

 

“No, no no  _ no, _ John don't sto~p.” Sherlock was shocked by the neediness of his own voice, but decided that he didn’t really give a damn. This was John, John would take care of him, he didn’t need to worry about anything. John hummed and popped the button of Sherlock’s bespoke trousers, pulling them down and off while still leaving Sherlock’s silk briefs on.

 

_ I’ve waited so long for this, damn it. I’m not going to rush it. _ John thought.

 

The first thing that hit him was the musky scent of arousal that drifted up from Sherlock’s groin. He sat back on his knees and took in the image of Sherlock sprawled out with his legs spread. It was wonderful how worked up he was, and John had only just gotten his trousers off. Something between Sherlock’s legs caught the light as his hips stuttered upwards, aching for John to touch him, and he was surprised to find that it was just the sheer wetness of Sherlock’s crotch that caught the light.

 

“My, my my,” John murmured, using the back of two fingers to gently stroke up through the mess in Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock threw his head back and moaned, high pitched and breathless. John stared at him in awe, it was almost unbelievable that Sherlock was this bloody hot. The dark black material did wonders hiding the stain, but there was no doubt over how fucking dripping he was. “Is this for me?” John asked. 

 

“Yes, fuck, John I can’t stand it anymore.” Sherlock cried, actual tears brimming at his lashes. John shushed him, continuing his slow, light strokes over his sopping slit. John licked his lips when he noticed how large and hard Sherlock’s clit was, tenting the fabric. After a few more moments of sliding his fingers through the wetness, he slowly ran his fingers across the tip of Sherlock’s nub. The sounds Sherlock made when he did that went straight to John’s cock. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he considered recording Sherlock’s reactions, but that was for another day.

 

John sat and teased him for several eternal minutes, until Sherlock was sure his brain had leaked out of his hole and now sat at a puddle between his legs.

 

“Please..” He whispered desperately. John tutted, but took pity on him, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Sherlock’s briefs and slowly exposing his sex to the cool air of the bedroom. The musky scent was even stronger now, making John’s mouth water. He compared it to many of the women and men he’d been with, but there was nothing else like it. It was like the scent was made for John, and only John. He ran his fingers through the soft bush of dark curls on Sherlock’s mons, leaning down and sucking a mark into his hip bone, then kissing and rubbing down his thighs and calves. Sherlock’s fingers grabbed at John, his hands, his hair, whatever he could reach. John hadn’t even touched the bare skin of his cock or hole, and he was already losing it. There was no orgasm building, but the arousal he was experiencing threatened to poison his brain with endorphins. 

 

_ That’s fine..  _ Sherlock thought, blearily.  _ If John makes me melt into an irreparable puddle of sex, then it will be worth it. _ Sherlock would later recall that being the last coherent thought he had, because then John was spreading his slit open with his fingers, breath ghosting across his wet, throbbing flesh.

 

“Let’s have a look at that cock then, shall we?”


	10. All Night Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think 24(ish) hours is enough time to make you guys wait for this <3

 

_ “Let’s have a look at that cock then, shall we?” _ John asked, voice heady with lust. Sherlock lie deathly still for the first time in what felt like eons as John’s warm fingers slowly traced his cock from root to tip. Sherlock held his breath, watching attentively as John gripped his cock between his thumb and index finger and started slowly jerking off his tcock. Sherlock finally gasped and let out a breathy moan, all of the tension melting away as he turned boneless under John’s ministrations.

 

“J-John that’s…” He gasped and John squeezed him slightly between his fingers on the up stroke. 

 

“Yes, love?” He whispered, breath tickling his skin.

 

“That’s  _ per~fect..” _ He moaned, letting his head drop onto the pillows. John hummed at him, a smile on his face. He changed his technique so that he was using three fingers to grip Sherlock’s cock with. Sherlock moaned at the change in pressure, and John watched in fascination as his hole squeezed and a rivlet of wetness dripped all the way down in-between his ass cheeks. 

 

“Fuck, Sherl’.” He whispered, watching Sherlock’s hole clench and drip again. He spent several minutes teasing Sherlock’s cock and watching him drip until Sherlock was incoherent and shaking. “I’m going to lick you now, love.” John warned, finally not being able to stand that he hadn’t tasted him yet. Sherlock gasped something that sounded like an affirmative, and John placed the flat of his tongue against Sherlock’s hole. He started with slow flat strokes, tasting the man thoroughly, loving how he dripped on his tongue every time he squeezed his cock. 

 

“ _ JohnJohnJohnJohn…” _ Sherlock’s hand fisted in his hair, back arching and legs trying to find purchase as he dealt with the new sensation. Victor had never gone down on him. Hell, Victor had never even made him  _ cum _ . But John was definitely going to make him cum. 

 

John’s mouth moved to his cock, flicking and swirling over it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth and doing the same thing, only with the added pleasure of suction. Sherlock was sure he would rip out John’s hair if he kept his hands in it, so he twisted his fingers in the duvet, arching into John’s mouth. A blunt finger stroked at his slick hole, making Sherlock gasp. It took no effort for John to slide his finger in with how wet Sherlock was, and he soon added another, crooking his fingers upwards and then pulling up. The motion made Sherlock almost buck him off of the bed. John nipped at his inner thigh and held him down by his hip before sucking his clit back into his mouth.

 

“Jooooohnnn I’m, I’m,  _ fu~ck…” _ Sherlock whimpered. John could feel his orgasm approaching on his tongue, cock throbbing and wetness dripping down his wrist from where his fingers were buried inside of the sobbing man. He set a punishing pace, adding another finger and doubling his efforts on Sherlock’s cock. He looked up over the man’s thatch of soft curls, catching him in the eye. Sherlock’s face was wrecked, red and blotchy, his lips swollen from biting at them, mouth hanging open as an endless stream of moans flowed from his throat. 

 

John looking him in the eyes with his mouth and fingers working him so well tipped him over the edge. He wasn’t prepared for it. It was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced, and it felt like it was lasting forever as John fucked him through it with his fingers, tongue moving lazily on his cock. When he finally floated back into his body, John was still slightly thrusting his fingers into him, soft lips mouthing gently against his sensitive nub.

 

“John..” He croaked softly, carding his fingers into his hair. His ministrations were gentle enough that they didn’t send Sherlock into over stim, and kept him just slightly aroused. John pulled out his fingers only to replace them with his tongue, rubbing small circles on his hip bone with his thumb. 

 

“D’ya want me to stop?” John asked quietly, licking long flat strokes over Sherlock’s lips. 

 

“N-no..” Sherlock laid his head back, running his fingers through John’s soft hair and enjoying the sensation on his sex. Within minutes, he was hard again, bucking his hips softly into John’s mouth. Thick fingers found their way into his hole again, and by the time John pulled away and sat up, he’d brought Sherlock to two more, earth shattering, orgasms.

 

Sherlock was boneless against the duvet, chest heaving slightly, pleasantly flushed, nipples pink and pretty standing out against his chest. John drank in the sight of him, then crawled up his body, running his hands up Sherlock’s protruding ribs, kissing up his sternum. John paused to lick at Sherlock’s nipples gently, causing the man below him to let out a tired whimper and grasp at his shoulders. John continued to lap at his nipples for a few more minutes, just enjoying having Sherlock so close to him. Thin fingers tilted his jaw up, and he was looking into Sherlock’s blissed out and exhausted face.

 

“Kiss me.” He whispered, John was more than happy to oblige, crawling up the last few inches and cradling the man’s curls. Sherlock moaned when he tasted himself in John’s mouth, causing the other man to nudge his hips forward. Sherlock pulled back with a chuckle.

 

“How is it that you’ve brought me to three orgasms, and you’re still wearing your trousers?” He asked breathlessly. John looked down at the offending garments and shook his head.

 

“Honestly, it didn’t even occur to me how damn hard I am until you said something.” John admitted sheepishly. Sherlock drew him in for another kiss.

 

“I’m amazed you want to kiss me after all that, isn’t your mouth tired?” He wrapped a leg around Johns, fingers trailing down his sweat slicked spine. John shivered and pressed several open mouth kisses to Sherlock’s neck. John glanced at the clock on the night stand and realized it had been at least 50 minutes since he started eating him out.

 

“No.. I could have gone for longer, actually.” He murmured into Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock moaned, pressing his naked hips up into John’s clothed ones.

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” he whispered into his ear, pulling at the lobe with his teeth, causing John to hiss and pin him down with a hand around his thin neck. The action shocked both men, and Sherlock felt a tendril of heat shimmy down his stomach. 

 

“Sorry, I-” John went to pull his hand away but Sherlock held it there.

 

“I don’t mind, John. I told you, it’s okay.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Sherlock watched in fascination as the change went over John’s face. His eye’s hardened and his jaw set, fingers twitching around Sherlock’s throat. The scared careful look was slowly replaced with one of controlling lust.

 

“Be careful what you say Sherlock, I don’t want to hurt you.” John growled at him. Sherlock bared his throat to John, closing his eyes and slyly dipping his fingers into the waistband of John’s trousers.

 

“Pity… I want you to..” He whispered, giving John’s button a sharp tug, popping it from the hole. It didn’t have the desired effect, John’s hand moved from his throat and he sat back on his knees. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him in confusion.

 

“John?”

 

“It's alright, Sherlock. You’ve already been through a lot tonight, we don’t have to continue.” John scratched at the back of his neck, a pleasant flush staining his cheeks. Sherlock would have been touched, agreed with him, and gone back out into the living room for a cuppa, if it weren’t for the wet spot blooming on top of the large tent in John’s trousers. Several things popped into his head, and one thing connected so quickly he didn’t even realize he verbalized it until after he thought it.

 

“Did you cum in my hair?” He asked, the thought more arousing than it had any right to be. 

 

“Wh-, I, um, I don’t…” John looked shocked and terrified, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..?” He tried.

 

“You  _ did _ !” Sherlock accused, sitting up and pushing John back by his shoulders, causing the other man to fall backwards, knees bending awkwardly. “It took me  _ ages _ to brush that out this morning, you bastard!” Sherlock straddled John’s hips, swatting his chest. 

 

“I know, I know! I’m sorry!” John cried, covering his face with his hands, his mortification tangible. Sherlock sat on his knees, legs framing either side of John’s hips, with his arms crossed over his chest, full pout.

 

“How on earth did that come up  _ now _ of all times?” John asked through his fingers. Sherlock huffed, blowing a stray curl out of his face, only for it to fall right back.

 

“The… The cum spot, on your trousers, you had one on your pants this morning.” Sherlock blushed, glaring off to the side.

 

A mortified: “You noticed that..?” then: “Wait, how often do you stare at my groin, Sherl’?” He teased, pulling his hands away from his face and letting them rest on Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock sputtered at him.

 

“That’s- That has nothing to do with the fact that you  _ came _ in my  _ hair _ , John!” Sherlock swatted at his chest again, but this time John caught his wrist before he made contact. A teasing smile still gracing his lips as he watched a thick strand of wetness leak down from Sherlock’s cunt and land near his own pre stain. Still holding Sherlock’s wrist in one hand, he ran two fingers through Sherlock’s slit, cock throbbing.

 

“Are you sure you mind, love?” John asked, bringing his two dripping fingers in front of Sherlock’s face and watching the inner battle ensue. John wasn’t sure which side won, but Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his soft lips around John’s fingers. He pulled them into his mouth and laved at them with his tongue, a soft sound coming out of his throat as he tasted himself on John’s fingers. John watched mesmerised as Sherlock took his fingers down to the last knuckle, cock throbbing in sympathy. Sherlock looked so beautiful, perched on his lap, chest and hips covered in hickies and bite marks, scratches on his thighs, sucking on his fingers.

 

“Christ, ‘Lock.” He murmured, pulling his fingers out of Sherlock’s mouth, dragging them down his tongue, gripping the tip of it and leaving Sherlock with his mouth wide open. Sherlock made a pleading sound and John relented, letting go of his tongue. 

 

“Just.. not my hair please.” Sherlock whispered. “It’s too curly for that, ‘messes it up.” 

 

“Well then where do you suggest I put it?” John asked, the heat behind his words masked with the tender stroke of his moist fingers on Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock met his gaze head on.

 

“Inside of me.” he said bluntly. John bit his lips and nodded slowly, eyes trailing down from Sherlock’s plump lips to his dripping sex.

 

“And ah, where exactly?” He probed. But then Sherlock’s confidence seemed to deflate, ever so slightly, and he changed tactics. “Can I cum in your mouth?” he asked directly. Sherlock swallowed thickly, mouth watering at the thought.

 

“Anywhere, John, but yes. Especially there.” he whispered hoarsely. 

 

“Hmm, deal.” John muttered, straightening out his legs and sitting up, enjoying Sherlock perched in his lap. He pulled the taller man down for a kiss, letting Sherlock set the pace. They kissed for a while, hands roaming each other’s exposed skin. Eventually, Sherlock’s long, nimble fingers found John’s zipper, he pulled John’s bottom lip between his teeth and slowly pulled them off as he undid the zipper. John’s fingers dug into his skin where his hands were placed on his hips. 

 

“You’re a bad man, Sherlock Holmes.” John growled against his mouth. Sherlock only hummed and pressed his lips back to John’s as he palmed his member through his pants. After a few moments of that, John nipped at his ear.

 

“Get on with it, love. I’ve been patient this far, I dunno how much longer I can play nice.” He whispered hotly into Sherlock’s ear, dragging his tongue up the shell of it. Sherlock shuddered and gave John’s cock a squeeze through his briefs. John moved them around so that his back was against the pillows and Sherlock was kneeled between his legs, contemplating John’s cock, which was still tucked away in his dove grey pants. John stripped his trousers off with Sherlock’s help, after they were situated, John laid back oh his arms and gazed down at Sherlock between his legs. He looked a little helpless, but there was a glint of determination as he stared at John’s cock.

 

“You’re gonna stare a hole through it, ‘Lock.” John teased. Sherlock shushed him.

 

“I’m making a plan.” he mumbled, gripping his chin with one hand. John tried his best to hold back his laughter, least Sherlock be deterred from attempting whatever he was planning. 

 

“A plan of action for sucking my cock?” John asked with the straightest face he could muster. Sherlock scowled at him.

 

“I’ve never done this before, I want to think about it before I jump into it.” Sherlock retorted, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. John’s gaze softened.

 

“It’s alright, I didn’t realize…” he trailed off. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“I mean, I’ve felated things that weren't attached to another human being, but this is… quite a bit different in practice.” 

 

“Well, feel free to practice on me any time.” John smiled at him, cock twitching at the image of Sherlock gagging himself with a dildo.

 

“What if I’m horrible John?” Sherlock teased back, laying down on his stomach, face inches away from John’s cock.

 

“You’ll get better.” John replied roughly as Sherlock trailed his fingertips down his bulge. He sighed and laid his head back, arms folded behind his neck, letting Sherlock experiment. It’s what he did best, after all.

 

Sherlock stared down at the bulge in John’s pants. Because really, it was ridiculous how hung John was. And as much as he wanted it in his mouth, he needed to figure out the easiest way to get it in there comfortably. He traced his fingers over it, enjoying the soft twitches it gave in response. 

 

_ It’s a bit like petting a bear, big and intimidating, but you also want to hug it. I mean, I want to hug John’s cock with my mouth, but it's a good concept. _

 

Sherlock shook his head and trailed his fingers all the way down to where the head pressed intently against the fabric of John’s pants, a growing dark stain of pre-cum making the fabric stick to the wet head of John’s cock. Sherlock decided to start there, leaning forward and mouthing the tip of John’s cock through the clothing. The taste was muted from the laundry soap and general cotton flavor, but the salty fluid leaking from John’s cock was delectable. Sherlock moaned, lapping at it with his tongue and sucking the fluid out of John’s briefs.

 

“Sherlock…” John moaned breathily above him.

 

Sherlock pressed open mouth kisses up the shaft and hooked his fingers into the elastic of John’s underwear, nosing into the neat thatch of dirty blond hair at the base of John’s cock. John lifted his hips, and soon enough his briefs were off, and he and Sherlock were equally exposed. Sherlock chased the newly exposed skin with his tongue, lapping at the veins that stood out. John’s skin was salty and soft, he’d flagged slightly while they awkwardly shimmied his briefs down his legs, but with Sherlock’s mouth on him, he was quickly regaining firmness. Sherlock licked up his length, getting as much of John’s taste imprinted on his tongue as possible. He gripped the base with his hand and gaped when his fingers only just closed around it.

 

“Jesus, John.” He breathed. John cast him an apologetic look.

 

“I know, it’s a lot. I won’t force anything.”

 

Sherlock hummed at him, but rose to the challenge eagerly, the only thing he was worried about was the flare in the middle, but he’d work around that when he got to it. He started with a slow jerking motion with his hand, there was enough slickness from his tongue bath that it wouldn’t chafe. He found himself face to face with John’s leaking cranberry colored cock head, and his mouth watered. He pursed his lips and pressed a soft kiss into the tip, using the motions he learned from kissing to pleasure John with his tongue. One of John’s hands came down beside him, gripping at the duvet.

 

“Christ, ‘Lock, that’s beautiful.” John whispered, looking down at him through heavy lidded eyes. Sherlock closed his own eyes with a soft moan, focusing on John’s breathing and the sounds of his fingers clenching in the sheets. He noted when his cock would twitch on his tongue and when a gush of fluid would fill his mouth. John especially liked it when he had his lips wrapped around the crown, flicking his tongue up and down his frenulum and his piss slit. Every time he did that, John would groan and buck his hips, a torrent of precum filling Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock loved how much fluid John produced, it coated the back of his throat making it easier to take him deeper every time he pushed down. But he didn’t push too far. It had been a while since he’d eaten, it would be easy to send himself into a dry heaving fit with the sheer mass of John’s cock. And John seemed perfectly content with Sherlock’s mouth on his tip. Sherlock let himself drool down John’s cock to give his hand more fluid to glide over.

 

“Use two hands, love. Focus on the head,  _ yes Sherlock, God… _ ” John groaned, hands clenching at nothing beside Sherlock’s head. Sherlock realized he was trying not to pull at his hair, but that was decidedly a very arousing thing that Sherlock would not mind.

 

“Grab my hair, John.” Sherlock mumbled before sucking his tip back into his mouth and taknig it as deep as he could manage. John’s hands immediately gripped his curls, pulling sharply in some places. Sherlock appreciated the restraint John was exhibiting. It must have been difficult not to shove Sherlock down further, to hold his head still and fuck his throat. Sherlock’s knees trembled at the thought, he wanted John to be a bit rough with him. He let his bottom teeth scrape a bit too harshly over John’s frenulum, John hissed, his fingers tightening in Sherlock’s hair. He moaned around the cock in his mouth, lapping at the underside of John’s cock to soothe the scrape. 

 

“You want me to pull your hair?” John asked, giving an experimental tug. Sherlock groaned again, his hips pressing into the mattress, nearly gagging himself on John’s cock. 

 

“So you’ll let me yank on it, but you won't let me cum in it?” John gave a sharp tug to enunciate his point. “Tsk, tsk, that hardly seems fair.” John thrust up, the head pushing against the back of Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock gripped at John’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but he wasn’t complaining. John nudged a foot under Sherlock’s hips, and sure enough he was a sticky mess. 

 

“You fucking love this, don’t you Sherl’.” John growled, beginning to thrust a bit harder into the back of his throat. Sherlock gagged so prettily, coughing up spit from his throat. There wasn’t much better in the world, to John, than a messy blowjob. He knew he was hard to accommodate, and while he appreciated the few who could take him into their throats, he didn’t expect it, nor need it to have good head. And Sherlock was perfect, of course he was. He willingly let his head be manipulated, dutifully kept his lips over his teeth, moaning and whining between John’s moderate thrusts. John readjusted his grip, one hand buried in Sherlock’s curls, and the other cupping his pretty throat, rubbing it gently, trying to coax a bit more of his length down his esophagus. Sherlock didn’t fight it, he went still, eyes closing and John attempted to breach his throat. When he finally pushed past, Sherlock’s watery eyes flew open in still panic.

 

“Shhh, love, you’re okay. You can breathe through your nose, right? Try for me,” John instructed. Slowly, Sherlock’s throat relaxed as he took in labored breaths through his nose. John’s cock sunk another inch deeper, and Sherlock went completely limp. “ _ Oh _ , Sherlock… You’re such a good boy for me, look at you, my big cock in your throat.” John stroked  his fingers up and down his throat. “Tap my leg if you need a break.” John told him.

 

Sherlock never tapped out, of course he didn’t. John was able to get another inch or so down Sherlock’s throat before he really had trouble breathing and retched a few times on John’s cock. John fucked him through it, loving the drooly mess Sherlock coughed up over his cock. He was running his tongue over the shaft of John’s cock, one hand on the base again, holding it steady for John to thrust into his mouth. His other hand was busy between his own legs. It was a religious experience, having a dick down your throat, Sherlock was immensely proud of his quick learning abilities, he was able to isolate his gag reflex and control it enough to manage. He still gagged every once in a while, but judging by the spurt of pre in his throat while John thrust into it, he didn’t mind. Sherlock was almost certain John liked it messy, but he needed more data. Which John had already agreed to let him gather. 

 

“Are you ready, Sherl’?” John asked through grit teeth, his hips moving in shallow, quick thrusts. Sherlock moaned around his cock and all of a sudden, John was sunk another inch down his throat. John gave three brutal thrusts, cursing like a sailor and pulling hard at Sherlock’s hair, before cumming down Sherlock’s throat. He held him there as his cock twitched and got it’s fill, the constant pressure and attempting to swallow John’s load made him retch, which only seemed to make John’s orgasm go on for longer. Sherlock weakly patted at his thigh, John gave a weak thrust, before letting him up slowly. Sherlock sputtered and heaved, falling onto his chest, cheek into the drool covered duvet. He caught his breath for a few moments, before leaning up and licking John’s cock clean. John stared down at him with a flushed face and a satisfied smile, chest heaving.

 

“You don’t have to worry about that love.” John assured, stroking Sherlock’s cheek bone. The younger man just moaned and slurped up his own cock slobber.

 

“I  _ want to, _ John” He whined, tenderly taking the slowly softening member into his mouth and gently cleaning the head with his tongue. John groaned in satisfaction and laid his head back, stroking Sherlock’s hair and enjoying the tongue bath. It occurred to him that Sherlock was still aroused and touching himself. John figured his cock was clean enough and motioned for Sherlock to come lay beside him on his back. John leaned over him and kissed his wet lips, driving his tongue into his mouth, tasting his cum on Sherlock’s lips. He teased his fingers down through Sherlock’s thatch of soft curls, stroking his hard cock for a few moments before sliding down to his soaked hole. 

 

“I want you to jerk off while I fuck you with my fingers, does that sound good?” John asked, kissing down his jaw and stroking his wet hole.

 

“Please, John…” Sherlock moaned, curling into him as much as he could while keeping his legs spread wide enough for John to maneuver. John stroked at his wet folds, murmuring filthy praises into his ear. Sherlock grabbed his cock with his fingers and started pulling at it in a near frantic pace. John shushed him, grabbing his wrist.

 

“Slower, love, I want to enjoy watching you come undone.” John growled in his ear. Sherlock keened, moving closer to John so they were laying side by side, Sherlock’s leg wrapped around John's, face buried into his neck. Two, thick fingers teased their way into Sherlock’s hot cunt, slowly rubbing at a place that only he could reach, driving Sherlock up the wall. 

 

“Christ, you’re bloody soaked..” John muttered. Sherlock hummed, mouthing at John’s pulse point and peppering kisses all over his neck and jaw.

 

“It never stops,” Sherlock whined against his throat. “I’m  _ always _ soaked, John.” 

 

John’s cock gave a sympathetic twitch on his thigh at Sherlock’s breathy admission. John nipped at his ear and sucked the lobe into his mouth, crooking his finger’s more harshly on one thrust, making Sherlock yelp. His fingers had moved to a steadier pace, so John matched his speed with his own fingers. A smirk graced his lips when Sherlock gasped and his toes curled, he was practically mouthing prayers into John’s neck, no longer kissing him. 

 

“Do you like that, Sherlock? My fingers inside of you?” John muttered into his ear.

 

“Yes,  _ yes _ , John. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve cum imagining this.” Sherlock blabbered on about different fantasies he had that included John and his hands, working himself up until he was bucking against John’s fingers, tugging furiously at his cock. John groaned into his neck, savoring all of the filth that spewed from his pretty lips. Sherlock Holmes begging for his fingers to fuck his brains out was really something to behold. 

 

“Do you want to cum on my fingers, Sherlock?” John bit a bruise into the underside of his jaw, one that the whole Yard would see, everyone would know that Sherlock was  _ his _ . 

 

“Yes! John, please? Pleasepleaseplease _ please~”  _ Sherlock practically shouted, clawing at John’s arm with his free hand. John stared down at him with a burning gaze, cock thickening with interest. Sherlock was so bloody arousing, they would never get out of bed at this rate.

 

“Mmm, I dunno, ‘Lock. I don’t think you’ve earned it.” John tutted, slowing the punishing movement of his digits inside of Sherlock’s drooling hole. The younger man looked up at him with a pleading and confused expression.

 

“John?” He whimpered, thrusting his hips more frantically into John’s ministrations. “John, please, what can I do?” he was putty in the other man's hands. John wracked his brain, he was not expecting Sherlock to be this damn submissive, but he guessed it made a little sense. 

 

“Hold it, I’ll tell you when you can cum.” he found himself saying in a low voice. Sherlock went weak underneath him, mewling and quivering, a flood of cunt drool gushing over John’s fingers. John sped up his thrusts, but when Sherlock would tighten and buck off of the bed, he would slow down again. He repeated this several more times, until literal tears were forming in Sherlock’s eyes, his voice scratchy from screaming for so long. He had abandoned his cock in favor of clutching at John and experiencing this wonderful torture. After about the 10th time of brining Sherlock to the edge but not letting him over, John redoubled his efforts and thumbed at his cock for him, making Sherlock grapple at him and dig his nails into his skin. Sherlock felt a tear drip down his face and a sob ripped from his throat.

 

“Cum, Sherlock.” And Sherlock did, nails raking down John’s arms, a silent scream caught in his throat and his eyes rolled back. John fucked him through several big gushes of fluid, watching in awe as the fluid squirted past his digits. John didn’t know when to stop, because it just kept going. For over a minute, Sherlock bucked and writhed against him, before tapping him on the arm and begging him to stop. John withdrew his fingers and immediately gripped his cock, hand slick from Sherlock’s cum. Sitting up a little, he gave a few quick pulls before letting out a grunt and spraying his load all over Sherlock’s stomach. He flopped down next to the lankly man beside him, pulling him into his arms. 

 

They both let their breathing regulate for a few minutes, Sherlock must have dozed off. He awoke to a warm washcloth gently swabbing over his swollen and sensitive cunt lips and inner thighs, then moving across his belly. He opened his eyes lazily, rolling over onto his stomach with a feline smile on his lips.

 

“Jo~hn…” He purred, looking up at him with a sleepy coy smile. John chuckled lowly at him, and then fucking  _ picked him up _ . Sherlock yelped and scrambled to wrap his arms around John’s neck. John pulled back the duvet and lay Sherlock down before pulling the covers back up. Sherlock smiled and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He heard his door handle click and his stomach dropped.

 

“You’re not... staying?” He asked quietly. The latch clicked back shut and he heard John step towards his bed.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want that.” John replied softly, reaching out and stroking Sherlock’s duvet covered feet. 

 

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” Sherlock inquired. He assumed that spending the night in bed together after coitus was a typical thing, and something that John regularly partook in. John sat on the edge of the bed, now stroking Sherlock’s hip.

 

“I don’t know. I just, I’ve never seen you share a bed with someone, I didn’t want to assume you’d be comfortable with it.”

 

“John… You just made me gag of your cock, and brought me to four orgasms, why on earth would you sleeping next to me be a line crossed?” Sherlock asked, sitting up, a bewildered expression on his face. John looked sheepish, fingers squeezing Sherlock’s boney hip.

 

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” He replied softly, not meeting Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock had never seen him look so vulnerable. John wasn’t an open book by any means, but he was still fairly easy to read. However this expression was something new, something reserved purely for Sherlock, should he ask for it. He grasped John’s wrist and pulled on him, gently, trying to prompt him to move closer. John obliged, crawling over Sherlock’s legs and sitting beside him, leaning up against the pillows. Sherlock sat up slightly and tucked his legs up, leaning into John’s chest. John wrapped an arm around him and let out a sigh. They sat there for a while, fingers slowly stroking over each other softly.

 

“There’s much more to say, isn’t there?” Sherlock mumbled into John’s chest. John hummed.

 

“Yes, but its,” He craned his neck to look at the digital clock, “Nearly one in the morning. We can talk tomorrow. Not to mention, we should probably work on that case.” John scrubbed a hand down his face. Sherlock looked up at him through his long lashes, blinking sleepily at him.

 

“Or we could not. Work on the case, that is. We could take a break.” He muttered, pressing his face deeper into the warmth of John’s chest. John giggled lazily and ran his fingers though the other man’s dark curls. 

 

“Never thought I’d see the day, Sherlock Holmes putting off a case.” He murmured into his hair.

 

“Only for you, John.” He smiled back, gazing up at the older man softly. John leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss into his soft mouth. They shifted around until they were both underneath the duvet, Sherlock’s impossibly long limbs wrapped around the shorter man’s body, face pressed into his chest. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and tucked him under his chin. The last coherent thought that ran through John's head was that he'd never been more content in his life.


	11. Sick Love and Sweet Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is.. well its super kinky and involves vomit and a blowjob. And feelings! I'm not a monster, just horny. There's only two paragraphs of actual emetophilia and I have put a warning down so you'll know what to skip if its not your cup of tea. If you do not want to read any part of this, skip to the end notes for a summary.

  
  


They slept soundly until the sun shone brightly through the window, warming the couple until it was uncomfortable to stay cuddled so close together. John woke on his back with Sherlock’s legs and arms wrapped completely around him, his forehead was pressed into John’s shoulder. They were a little sweaty from the sun beating down on them, but John was in no hurry to move. Sherlock slept like a rock. Silent, unmoving. John would have pinged him for a snorer, but surprisingly, he breathed through his nose softly, features relaxed. John rolled over as gently as he could, not waking the other man, and took a few moments to imprint the view into memory. John really liked watching Sherlock sleep, the few times he’d been privy to it. His face was so relaxed, he looked softer, somehow. Like all of his angles and hard features just melted away and he looked 10 years younger. John cupped his jaw and slid his fingers into his messy dark curls, bringing their foreheads together. He spent a few minutes stroking Sherlock’s hair and breathing in his sleepy scent before Sherlock himself woke as well.

 

“John.” He mumbled sleepily. John smiled and rubbed their noses together.

 

“M’ning, love.” He replied softly. Sherlock hummed, then took a bracing breath before detangling himself from John and stretching out his long limbs, arching his back beautifully. John stroked his fingers down Sherlock’s sternum as he stretched. He wasn’t able to stop himself from squeezing the slander mans swollen, pink nipples, causing the man to let out a soft moan. He settled back into the covers and looked over to John shyly through his hair. The older man smiled at him, rolling onto his side and brushing the thick black curls out of his face. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips before settling down a few inches away, one hand thumbing at his nipple.

 

“Breakfast?” He asked. Sherlock nodded, still staring at John with a wide eyed expression, a small blush dusting his cheeks. “What do you want?” John asked softly. Sherlock swallowed and shrugged slightly, ducking his head under John’s chin. John chuckled at him and continued stroking his tender flesh. Sherlock threw a long leg over John’s and gave a lazy thrust at the thigh in between his legs before yawning. John couldn’t reach the bud of flesh from their new position so he settled for stroking up and down Sherlock’s back. They were still and quiet for so long, John thought Sherlock might have fallen back asleep.

 

“Sherlock, love, are you alright?” He asked softly, pressing a kiss into his soft hair.

 

“What does it mean, John?” Was his muffled response. John tried to pull away and look into Sherlock’s eyes, but the man pulled him closer and kept his face buried into John’s chest. John could feel the anxiety rolling off of him in thick waves, so he wrapped his arms around him gently and rested his chin back on top of his head.

 

“Elaborate?” John requested. Sherlock shuffled beneath him.

 

“This,” Sherlock squeezed him slightly, “Us, last night.” He replied. John ran his fingers through his curls, gently untangling the knots that formed while he slept.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” John asked him. _Surly he’s deduced how I feel about him by now?_

 

“I… I need to be sure.” He sounded so small, like asking John to say it was going to make him run for the hills. Then John noticed he was trembling slightly.

 

“Oh Sherlock, sweetheart, I-,” John stumbled over his words trying to find the right way to say how he was feeling, how to make Sherlock feel better and put his fear to bed. “I love you.” _That works._

 

Sherlock relaxed instantly, if only slightly. John nuzzled into his hair.

 

“I have for a while. I just, I thought that you wouldn’t return my sentiments, so I kept them to myself. I didn’t think you were interested. And- and Sherlock, I’m so happy just being here, and having you, being around you. It didn’t matter that we weren’t snogging, it was enough just to be next to you. You’re enough.” John stopped himself at that. Sherlock pulled back enough to look up at John’s face, eyes red. John couldn’t help kissing him. Sherlock’s hands threaded into his hair, and soon enough Sherlock was on his back with John between his legs, looming over him. They kissed for several long minutes, trying to convey anything and everything without words. John pulled back when the stirrings of an erection became prominent. If he got hard now, they wouldn't be leaving bed for quite a while, and he was hungry. Sherlock seemed to have other ideas, wrapping his impossibly long legs around John’s waist and bringing their hips together and pulling his head down for another kiss.

 

“Mf- Sherlock!” John chuckled, pinning the man's wrists and pushing himself up to look into Sherlock’s face. “Breakfast.” He stated. Sherlock pouted at him, whining out his name and pushing his soft mound to John’s half chub. “Nope, later. I’m starving.” He maneuvered Sherlock until he was able to hoist him over his shoulder, making Sherlock yelp and grasp at his back.

 

“John! Put me down!” he whined as John stood from the bed. John swatted his ass cheek and carried him out the door and into the kitchen, making Sherlock yelp again but stop fussing. He didn’t even want to complain after noticing his view of John’s backside. John set him down in the kitchen chair, shivering at the chill in the air of the flat. He walked back to Sherlock’s room and grabbed his dressing gown and pulled on his own pants. He tossed the article of clothing at Sherlock before gathering what he wanted to make breakfast.

 

“So, we’re… together, then?” Sherlock asked as John threw some eggs and sausage into a pan.

 

“Well, of course. If that's alright, I mean. If that’s what you want?” John turned and leaned against the cupboards.

 

“I do want that.” Sherlock nodded. John gave him an award winning smile and crossed the small space between them, cupping Sherlock’s jaw and pulling him up for a kiss. Sherlock thread his fingers into John’s short hair as they pulled away, foreheads resting together. Their breakfast started to burn and John only just managed to save it before it became completely inedible.

 

“I’m surprised you let me go on for as long as I did last night.” John mused as he set the table with forks and knives. He loaded sausage and toast onto a plate for Sherlock, piling the eggs on his own. Sherlock nibbled his lip and looked down to his feet, knees pulled to his chest.

 

“You could have gone longer, if you wanted.” He mumbled back. John’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Seriously? I made you cum four times.” He remarked. Sherlock hid his face in his knees and shrugged, pushing around the meat on his plate with his fork. John humed and speared his egg yolk, watching the yellow ooze out before dipping his toast into it.

 

“Still could have gone longer.” Sherlock replied. John looked up at him with a small smile on his face.

 

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you, seeing as you’re new to this and all.” He was surprised when Sherlock snorted at him, picking up a sausage and taking a bite out of it.

 

“You underestimate my sex drive, John.” He replied, very proud of how strong his voice came out, despite the fluttering in his stomach from being so bold. John put down his cutlery.

 

“You _have_ a sex drive?” he asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“Of course I do, how else would I have figured it out?” He asked, taking another bite out of his sausage.

 

“Figured out… what, exactly?” John prompted. Sherlock sighed.

 

“Don’t be thick John. My… _feelings,_ for you.” he spat the word out like it was acid on his tongue. John shook his head at the ridiculous man across from him, and took a bite of his toast.

 

“It’s not a bad word, Sherl’. Not like you’re chaste anyways, if last night was anything to go by.” He looked back to his plate with a smirk, cutting up the sausage on his plate into small bites. Sherlock blushed and kicked John softly under the table. They eat quietly for a few moments before it dawned on John what Sherlock had inadvertently admitted to.

 

“Wait- Did you- Have you- Have you fantasized about me before?” John asked. Sherlock dropped his fork and wrapped his arms around his knees, planting his forehead into them and groaning, ears pink. John grinned widely at him. “You so have. Sherlock, you dirty bird.” He nudged Sherlock’s foot under the table with his own. Sherlock just groaned again.

 

“Oh come off it, you’re not the only one.” John tells him with a blush of his own. At first, Sherlock is a bit miffed that John would be so cocky about other people fantasizing about him, but then he remembered the size and girth of John’s massive fucking cock, and he understands. But then.. That’s not what he meant, judging by his shy expression and the way he avoided eye contact.

 

“John, you’ve- Me?” Sherlock asks, his heart thumping loudly. He almost doesn’t dare imagine that John would have felt anything akin to lust at the thought of him, despite of his confession not thirty minutes ago.

 

“Well-” John is quick to defend. “I mean, I never thought you would be into anything like… _that._ So I tried to keep you out of my explicit thoughts, but I never quite managed to reign in my dreams. But even those weren’t very sexual, per se, just very intimate.”

 

Sherlock chewed over the new information and had the decency to be slightly ashamed.

 

“How chaste.” He teased, biting his lip. John snorted and took a bite of toast.

 

“Am I safe to assume your thoughts about me were less so?” He asked. Sherlock pulled the fabric of his dressing gown into his mouth and chewed on it for a few moments.

 

“Yes.” He finally admitted. John felt his cock harden slightly in his pants.

 

“Care to elaborate?” John asked carefully. Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, his own sex starting to thicken and drip.

 

“It.. it started with the toilets. I was curious, because I knew where you were going, so I looked at your profile and it made me wet. I hadn’t felt arousal towards another person since University until that point, needless to say I needed to, ah, experiment.” His voice went husky at the end, dropping into that delicious baritone that sent a shiver up John’s neck. John’s cock was more than semi erect at that point.

 

“Go on.” He commanded, leaning back in his chair and palming himself through his briefs.

 

“ _John!_ Breakfast.” Sherlock whined, shifting his hips subtly.

 

“We have a microwave.” John counterd, arching a brow. Sherlock sighed in defeat, swallowing against the lump of anxiety in his throat.

 

“With that attitude, we could have just stayed in bed like I wanted to.” Sherlock pouted. John gave him a look that made him shrink a few inches and a small gush of fluid drip out of his pussy.

 

“I want to know what filthy thoughts run through that brilliant brain of yours. Right now that’s more appetizing that toast.” John challenged gruffly, giving his cock another squeeze. Sherlock noticed the movement of his arm and let out a small moan.

 

 _He’s getting off on this. Masturbating right in the middle of the kitchen just like I did not two days ago._ The thought sent a hazy wave of dizziness over him, and he was glad he was sitting down. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat and snuck a hand between his own legs, stroking lightly at the slickness in his cleft.

 

“I think about you every time I touch myself.” Sherlock admitted, letting his gaze linger on John’s trim chest, it was easier than looking him in the eye.

 

“And how often do you touch yourself?” John prompted.

 

“As often as I can. When you make tea and toast, every time I go to my room. Most of the time I don’t make it to the bed before I have to touch myself. I just do it right against the door.”

 

“Christ, ‘Lock.” John groaned, his own cock leaking precum into his pants. He recounted all of the times he’d been making tea and Sherlock was budgering himself against the door, thinking about him.

 

“I think about how you would touch me. Sometimes soft and inquisitive, explorative, with quiet words and slow strokes of your fingers. But most of the time its rougher. I think about you punishing me for following you to the park toilets, watching you, not being able to stop myself from mastubaring in broad daylight to the scene.”

 

John pulls his cock out of his pants and Sherlock can see the leaking tip peeking over the top of the table. Sherlock in turn spreads his legs a bit, even though John can’t see him over the table. But spreading his legs for John makes the scene just that more erotic.

 

“I think about you making me service you, denying me pleasure because I took it without asking.” Sherlock gasps, slowly tracing up and down his slick bud. Seeing John react to positively to him made him a bit braver, and he said the next bit looking John directly in the eye. “I think about you splitting me open with that massive fucking cock of yours. Screwing me until sunday, until my hips ache and I can’t tell if I’m cumming or not because you’re relentless and you don’t stop when I start squirting.”

 

“Fucking hell.” John groaned, squeezing the base of his cock and let Sherlock glimpse the ooze of pre drip down his cock head and make its way down the shaft. Sherlock watched helplessly, mouth hanging open slightly.

 

“John please can I suck your cock?” Sherlock asked breathlessly, practically drooling over the sight of his leaking cock head. John grinned darkly at him, pushing his chair back and letting his legs fall open so that Sherlock got an eyeful.

 

“I dunno…” John teased, giving his cock a firm stroke before gripping it at the base again, wagging it slightly to tempt the other man. “Tell me how much you want it.”

 

“Please John, please. I want to have you in my mouth. I want to taste you, I want your cum on my tongue and clogging up my throat. I want to choke on it because I know I can’t get it all the way down, but I want to learn how. I want you to fuck my throat until my lips touch the base, no matter how much I struggle and gag. I want you to keep fucking my throat even if I puke on it, even if I make a mess.” Sherlock whimpered, two fingers having found their way into his hole without him realizing it.

 

“You want me to make you puke on my cock, Sherlock?” John asked breathlessly.

 

“Yes, _please_ John.” Sherlock gasped as his fingers brushed against his spot, making John eye his movements.

 

“Enough of that. Come over here, leave the robe on the chair.” John commanded, and Sherlock was more than eager to comply. He pulled his fingers out of his dripping hole and stood up, letting his open dressing gown fall to the floor. John turned his chair so that he was facing away from the table and Sherlock had enough space to get on his knees in front of him. Sherlock practically crawled across the floor towards him, crouching nude between John’s spread thighs. He peeked up at him shyly through his curls. For all his eagerness, he was still dreadfully inexperienced. It made him anxious to think about all of the other people who must have been better at it than him. John watched the anxiety flit across his face and leaned forward and cupped his jaw.

 

“I know it’s big love, I don’t expect you to go down all the way.” He murmured, thumbing his jaw. Sherlock glowered at him.

 

“I want to.” He stated. John chuckled at him.

 

“Well, that’s going to take some practice. I don’t think anyone has ever taken me all the way to the base.” John admitted sheepishly. He’d always felt bad about the size of his dick. He didn’t like hurting people. But then he found people who actually wanted to be hurt, and his sex life improved stupendously. But Sherlock was damn near a virgin, and he _really_ didn’t want to hurt Sherlock.

 

“I don’t think anyone else has been as determined as me.” Sherlock stated, feeling slightly more confident. He’d probably only gotten about a third way down John’s impressive length. Which, Sherlock was proud of himself for. While he had tested his gag reflex with various objects over the course of his life, he’d never attempted to deepthroat anyone’s penis, and John’s girth was unfound.

 

“Well then,” John chuckled and leaned back, pulling his balls over the waistband of his pants, stroking his cock in Sherlock’s face. “Can you be good for me, Sherlock?” He asked. Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded, a flush overtaking his cheeks. “Let me hear it, ‘Lock.”

 

“Yes, I can be good for you John.” Sherlock nearly whispered, his own smaller clit cock standing out and proud from his curls. He watched John’s hand stroke over his shaft, almost mezmorized. John brought the cock head close enough to Sherlock’s lips so that he could feel the heat, smell the precum oozing out of it, but not taste it.

 

“Good boy, kneel with your legs wider apart.” John commanded. Sherlock did as he was told, scooting a few inches forward so that he would be closer to John’s cock. He was flexible enough to sit on the floor with his legs folded on either side of him, his soaking pussy touching the cold linoleum. John nudged his cock with his foot, muttering more praise and stroking a hand through his hair.

 

“Same deal as last night, tap me three times if you need a break, we stop any time you need to. And if you don’t want to continue that’s fine too. You’re in control of this, do you understand, Sherlock?” John’s voice was firm but gentle, it made Sherlock feel light headed.

 

“Yes, John.” He responded weakly.

 

“Good. Your hands stay on your thighs unless you need to signal. Were you serious about wanting to puke on my cock?” John asked, jacking himself off slowly with one hand and petting Sherlock with the other. He batted his length against Sherlock’s cheek. Even though it was light, the man could still wind up with a black eye in the morning. “I can and will make that happen, if you want.” John finished, slapping Sherlock’s cheeks with his throbbing tip a few more times, leaving streaks of pre on his alabaster skin. Sherlock’s hole clenched and throbbed at the thought.

 

“Yes please.” He whimpered, leaning into the other man’s touch and resting his hands dutifully on his thighs. John hummed and dragged his cock head across his cheek to the man’s plump lips.

 

“Keep them closed for now.” He grabbed a handful of Sherlock’s curls and held him still, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing the wet slit across Sherlock’s pretty pink mouth. He let the smaller man give him little kitten licks every once in a while, the taste making his head swim.

 

John pushed his cock head past the tight, soft ring of Sherlock’s lips and he met it with his warm tongue. Sherlock let him thrust the tip in and out of his mouth, keeping a soft suction and laving at the leaking tip with all of the moves he learned the night prior. John was moaning and pulling at his hair within minutes.

 

“Drool on it, love. Get my cock nice and slick.” John murmured.

 

Sherlock obliged and kept his lips over his teeth and John thrust in deeper, nudging his soft palate. John slowly eased himself into Sherlock’s throat, spending long minutes slowly fucking his mouth before pushing deeper. John was so gentle with him, but the grip in his hair told him that John’s restraint was waning. He couldn’t wait for it to snap. Sherlock was comfortably taking him just as deep as he was the night before. He figured out how to time his breath with John’s thrusts, which were picking up pace as he pressed deeper. Sherlock gagged slightly and John pressed him down into it, cock leaking fluid down his throat and making him gag harder. But Sherlock wouldn't let himself be easily deterred. He let John gag him until he was dizzy, his eyes rolled back into his head and tears beginning to brim, before he tapped for a break. John let him pull off and catch his breath.

 

“Here,” John pressed a glass to his lips after he recovered a little. Sherlock let water be poured down his throat, and a few moments later he nodded.

 

John slipped his cock back into Sherlock’s mouth and took a minute to work it back down. The water had cooled down Sherlock’s mouth a little, creating a delicious temperature change against his heated flesh. John pressed his cock further down Sherlock’s throat than he had gone, and held him there. Sherlock struggled in the hold, his breath blocked from half of John’s cock being shoved into his mouth. He started gagging and John let him up for a brief moment, only pulling out enough for Sherlock to draw a breath before shoving himself back in. Sherlock retched and dry heaved against John’s thrusts, his hands flailing desperately on his thighs.

~~ _**Light emetophilia warning** _ ~~

“You’re so good for me, Sherlock. Look at you, choking so pretty on me, keeping your hands to yourself. I don’t think I’d ever need to restrain you, you’re such an eager slut. You’ll stay where ever I put you, even if you can’t breathe.” John enunciated this by forcing his cock another centimeter down Sherlock’s gullet and pinching his nose shut. Sherlock stared at him in aroused shock for a few moments before he started panicking. He slapped his legs and dug his nails into his skin, but never reached for John or tried to pull away. John counted to thirty and yanked out of Sherlock’s throat with a harsh tug of his hair. A small stream of bile followed and dripped down John’s cock. He grinned at the sight Sherlock made, naked and kneeling at his feet, willingly being choked out, and practically begging to be forced to puke on his cock.

 

“God damn it, Sherlock. You’re so fucking good.” John groaned, pushing back into his mouth and forcing the head in and out of his throat. Sherlock sobbed and another gush of bile flowed out of his throat. Tears were running down his face and his nose was kind of snotty, but John thought he looked beautiful. “You’re so pretty like this, love. All messy for me.” He couldn't stop himself from thrusting hard into him a few times. Sherlock was leaving a small sticky puddle of his own on the kitchen floor, his cunt leaking uncontrollably from the rough treatment.

 

“How are we?” John asked, letting Sherlock up after a few more minutes of retching on half of John’s length.

 

“Good, John. Don’t stop, I love it.” Sherlock moaned, desperatly suckling on the massive drooling cock head in front of his lips. John chuckled at his desperation, teasing him with the tip before uncerimoniously shoving himself back into Sherlock’s tight throat.

 

“You fucking cock slut.” John grunted, setting a brutal pace and forcing himself a few more centimeters in. Sherlock was openly sobbing, his hands staying clenched on his thighs. He coughed up throat slime whenever John would let him up for a breath, which was becoming less and less often. John was getting impatient, he was getting close and he hadn’t triggered the man’s gag reflex as hard as he wanted to. John wanted a mess to clean up afterwards. A big mess.

 

“Hands behind your back.” John ordered, the hand that wasn’t tangled in Sherlock’s curls wrapped around his bulging throat. Sherlock complied, and John stood from his chair. The change of angle caused a bit more of his cock to go into his convulsing throat. John thrust hard into him, the helpless pleading look on Sherlock’s face egging him on.

~~_**Heavy emetophilia warning** _ ~~

“You wanted to make a mess, love. So make a fucking mess.” John growled, then squeezed on Sherlock’s throat in hard pulses, jabbing his length as deep and brutal as he could. Then he felt it, a new pressure against his cock head. Sherlock felt like he was dying. The urge to vomit around the cock in his throat finally couldn’t be ignored. John yanked his cock out and watched as a torrent of vomit spilled past Sherlock’s pretty lips and dripped down his body. Sherlock sobbed and gasped, tears streaming down his face. John wasted no time in repeating the action, this time not pulling out when he felt the puke pressing against his cock. He thrust past it and moaned when it bubbled past his cock and over Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock was convulsing between him, his body twitching and writhing, hips canting towards the floor trying to stimulate his neglected cunt, but his hands stayed clasped together behind his back.

 

“Good. Fucking. Boy.” John grunted and pressed his cock seemingly impossibly deep, and it was forced out by a wave of puke. John didn’t let him recover before pushing his cock all the way back down and marveling as he felt Sherlock’s mucky chin on his balls. Sherlock panicked slightly when he opened his eyes and saw how close the base of John’s dick was to his lips. Even though he could taste his own bile on John’s flesh, he worked his tongue against the underside of his shaft. He let John fuck his throat for a few minutes, pulling all the way out before shoving it back in. Sherlock took it, coughing up throat slime and what little food was left in his stomach over his massive cock. Finally, John cursed and pushed the last few centimeters down, and came. Sherlock puked out of his nose and really couldn't breathe, but John was cumming, and he could take it. He would take it. And he did. John’s cock reached new depths and he brutally fucked Sherlock’s throat through his orgasm, loving the desperate and scared noised the younger man made as he suffocated on vomit and gagged on his prick. When John finally yanked his cock out of Sherlock’s throat, the man couldn’t stop retching. He broke his pose and spewed all over John’s cock, himself, and the floor. He spent several minutes with his eyes closed, gasping and catching his breath. When he came back to himself, John was wiping off his face with a napkin and petting his hair, speaking low soothing words, his puked on briefs laying in the puddle.

~~ _**Emetophilia end** _ ~~

“C’mon, sweetheart” John murmured to him, pulling him up from where he knelt in the mess on the floor. Sherlock stumbled into John’s grip and they walked to the bathroom. John put a towel down on the lid of the toilet and made Sherlock sit down, before starting a bath. He pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s miraculously clean hair (the man would have murdered him if he’d gotten anything in it anyhow), and then quickly traipsed to the kitchen and filled up a plastic cup with water. Sherlock had his eyes closed when he came back. He set the cup on the flat corner of the tub and placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

“You doing alright?” John asked when Sherlock blinked up at him dazedly.

 

“Mouthwash?” He asked quietly. John smiled at him and grabbed the bottle from the mirror cabinet. Sherlock took it graciously, spitting in the trash can when he was finished. John took advantage of Sherlock’s minty mouth, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before helping him into the bath. He took a moment to wipe a warm rag over his cock.

 

“I’m gonna go take care of the kitchen, you just sit here for a while.” John told him. Sherlock gave a soft hum and closed his eyes, a sleepy smile on his lips.

 

“John?” he called right as he was about to close the door.

 

“Yes, love?” He asked, a concerned expression crossing his face.

 

“I love you.” Sherlock blinked up at him lazily. John grinned from the doorway.

 

“I love you too, Sherlock. I’ll leave the door cracked in case you need anything, alright?”

 

Sherlock gave another pleased hum and sank deeper into the water. John mopped up the kitchen and got changed into some pyjamas, pulling out a pair of soft plaid pants and a big t-shirt for Sherlock. He walked back down to the bathroom after a half an hour had passed, Sherlock was dozing in the tub. He gently roused him and got him dried off before dressing him in the comfy clothes he’d gotten out. The two of them curled up on the sofa and watched a movie. John gathered them several things to snack on and a pitcher of water for them. They spent the rest of the day lounging and watching films, cuddling and sharing long intimate kisses, hands never still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John wake up together the next morning. Over breakfast, Sherlock gets nervous and finally asks about he and John's relationship. John admits that he's in love with Sherlock, and they begin the conversation of the relationship boundaries. John is cute and domestic and makes breakfast, but of course, they don't really eat because Sherlock is sinful and John cant keep his hands off of him. A messy blowjob ensues that gives Sherlock his first taste of subspace. After a mindblowing orgasm, John cleans Sherlock up and draws him a bath, they spend the rest of the evening nesting on the sofa.


	12. Confessions by Candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that this update has taken so long, my computer was broken for a while and I just got it fixed, updated should be coming a bit more regularly now. Thank you everyone for being so patient, enjoy!!

A glorious week went by, the pair spent most days barely dressed, enjoying their newfound proximity. Eventually there was an imminent need to go shopping. Sherlock sulked until John agreed to go to Tesco’s by himself. It took him forever to leave, but once he was out the door, Sherlock was on his feet and preparing for the night. He’d been doing research on the “proper way” to lose one’s virginity. While he technically wasn’t a virgin, it had been over a decade since he’d had anything inside of himself other than his fingers. So many of the articles were teen focused and extremely feminine, so it took him a few frustrating days to find something that worked. He eventually found an article about how to make your first time having homosexual intercourse enjoyable. That seemed to cover what he was looking for. He set to work on changing his sheets and getting his bedroom ready. He had to sneak down to Mrs’ Hudson’s flat ( _ She was out to lunch with a friend _ ) and steal as many candles as he could cary. They ranged from several stick candles, tea lights, and a few large scented ones. He decided to light the forest scented one so that the room would have a hint of pine when John came home. With the room squared away, he moved into the bathroom. The next thing he needed to do was get himself ready. 

 

Sherlock didn’t bother reading the instructions for anal preparation, but still filed it away for later musings. He started with a shower, washing his hair, doing every scrub and skin care treatment that he had. When he was finished, he grabbed a small mirror that had its own stand, and changed out his razor. He set to work grooming himself. It took several video tutorials before he found a style and a method that he liked, but once the finished product was done, he was quite happy with the results. 

 

Sherlock ran his fingers through the small thatch of soft curls he left on his mons, then trailed his fingers over his newly shaven lips, shivering at the sensation of the bare skin. He immediately started to get hard at the sensation, a wetness beginning to form. He had to stop himself before he got carried away. With John as a sexual partner, he didn’t need to masturbate nearly as much as he had before. In fact, every time he would think about sneaking away to pleasure himself, John’s hand would miraculously wander down to his cock and bring him to an orgasm. John would touch Sherlock as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. Most of the time John wouldn’t get a full erection, but he would lay and thrust his fingers in and out of Sherlock’s hole while watching the telly. Sherlock loved being wet and open for him. It became a game after a while, seeing how long he could stay quiet so that John could watch his show. And he especially loved the feeling of John having that power over him. He loved that John could (and would) take whatever he wanted, when he wanted.

 

Sherlock shook himself out of his thoughts and pulled his hand away from where he was absentmindedly stroking his cock. He stood up and started on styling his hair, shaving his face, and doing a few more moisturizing treatments. By the time John was home with the shopping, Sherlock was sat on the couch in a “casual” black satin dressing gown, the only article of clothing that lay beneath was the closest thing Sherlock had akin to lingerie. It was a pair of red satin briefs with two small bows on the front, he wasn’t sure where he got them, but he suspected Mrs. Hudson might have something to do with it. John didn’t notice his appearance for a few minutes, marching straight to the kitchen with the shopping.

 

“I got stuff to make pasta with, we can do that tonight if you’d like. I also got bagels and cream cheese, something a little different than toast, you might like it. Oh, and those cucumbers you wanted for that experiment.” John called as he put away the bags. Sherlock blushed, remembering the experiment he was going to do with that cucumber. He chuckled to himself, standing from the sofa and walking over to the kitchen. He leaned against the wall and watched John kneel and put vegetables into the crisper. He pulled out several cucumbers of varying sizes, and then glanced back at Sherlock.

 

“I didn’t know what you needed them for, so I got a few different… Wow.” John turned to look at him fully, taking in the dark gown and Sherlock’s immaculate hair. He sat and stared for a few moments.

 

“Did I break you?” Sherlock asked lowly. John gulped and stumbled upright from his position on the floor, cucumbers still in hand.

 

“No, no! I just… Wow, you look great.” John gestured with the vegetables. Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully.

 

“Your vocabulary is impeccable as always, John.” He teased. John scowled and seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. He set the cucumbers down on the counter and stalked towards Sherlock who was still leering at him from the doorway. By the time he crossed the small span of linoleum between them, his scowl melted away into a warm questioning gaze.

 

“I have my moments.” He murmured softly when he reached Sherlock’s side, placing his hands on the taller man’s hips. Sherlock leaned down for a quick kiss and pulled away, playing aloof.

 

“How was shopping, dear?” He drawled sarcastically, wandering over to the cucumbers and running his fingers over the cool hard skin of them. John stared after him and shook his head.

 

“It was fine, perfectly ordinary, as far as shopping goes.” He responded, following Sherlock slowly. “I’m a little more interested in what you got up to while I was out, though.”

 

“Mhm, I bet you are.” Sherlock replied passively, once again stepping away from John once he was close enough to place a hand at his elbow. He sat down at the kitchen table, legs crossed at the ankles. He made a show of checking his nails, pointedly not looking at John’s bewildered expression.

 

“So what's for dinner?” Sherlock asked conversationally. John shook his head and slowly returned to his task of putting away the shopping. 

 

“I dunno, you in the mood for anything?” John stood on his toes to put the cooking oil away in the top cupboard, his shirt rising slightly to expose the small dimple at the base of his spine. Sherlock licked his lips and tore his eyes away before John turned around.

 

“Not particularly.” He responded, voice rougher than he’d like to admit. John hummed at him and emptied the contents of the last bag, which happened to be toiletries. When he returned from the bathroom, he leaned up against the counter and faced Sherlock.

 

“Pasta?” John shrugged. Sherlock made a face.

 

“No garlic.” He responded. John quirked a brow.

 

“Alright, any reason for that, or just not feeling it?”

 

“Wouldn’t “not feeling it” be considered a reason?” Sherlock countered, leaning forward in his chair. It absolutely wasn’t deliberate that his gown opened just the slightest bit and exposed more of his creamy soft skin. But John drank it up either way.

 

“Fair point.” He gulped. “Is that the reason, then?”

 

“No and yes.” Sherlock responded. The reason was that he didn’t want John’s mouth to taste like garlic, but also his nerves were starting to get the best of him, and any harsh flavors would make him sick. John nodded, sucking his teeth.

 

“Sandwiches?” he tried. Sherlock chuckled and stood from his chair.

 

“That sounds good, I’ll make tea.”

 

“Cold or hot?” John asked, already pulling ingredients from shelves. 

 

“Cold, no tomatoes please.” Sherlock requested, stepping around John to fill the kettle.

 

“I know.” John pressed a kiss into his shoulder. They set to work on their simple supper, moving about the kitchen together like an intricate domestic dance that only they knew the steps to. They took their sandwiches and tea to the sofa and watched a show that John was invested in. It was dark out by the time they were finished and John’s show was over.

 

“So, what are the cucumbers for?” John asked suddenly. Sherlock choked on his spit and started coughing very un-elegantly. John sat them up and patted the other man’s back until he stopped sputtering. John quirked a brow.

 

“I told you, they’re for an experiment.” Sherlock brushed off. John grimaced.

 

“This experiment wouldn’t involve any harsh chemicals or the kitchen table, would it?” He asked wearily. Sherlock smirked, imagining being sprawled on said table buggering himself silly with a vegetable. 

 

“No and maybe.” He responded cryptically. John groaned.

 

“Can I ask what outcome you’re aiming for?” He inquired. Sherlock thought for a second before deciding to be bold. If he wanted anything inside of him tonight, he should start playing it up now.

 

“Well, an orgasm hopefully.” Sherlock responded passively, checking his nails. It was John’s turn to sputter and choke. For all of his experience and kinks, John sure did fluster easily. Sherlock waited for the shock to turn into arousal. Maybe this night would go more smoothly than he planned.

 

“Let me understand this correctly,” John started. Sherlock let out a hum and continued glancing over the dull shine of his fingernails, the calluses on the tips of his fingers from the violin. “You asked me to buy you cucumbers, so that you could bugger yourself with them?”

 

Several expressions flitted across John’s face when Sherlock hummed an affirmative. Sherlock eagerly waited to see which reaction would win out, but after a few moments of prolonged silence, he glanced up from his fingers in concern.

 

“John?” He prompted. It was John’s turn to hum.

 

“Did I break you?” Sherlock asked, poking the other man lightly in the shoulder. John shook himself out of his thoughts and focused his gaze back to Sherlock.

 

“No, no.” He murmured, leaning to press a kiss into Sherlock’s shoulder, then resting his head on it and grabbing his waist. “It’s just that sometimes I wonder how it is that I was lucky enough to find you.” He finished tenderly. Sherlock scrunched up his nose.

 

“John. I quite literally just told you that I wanted to fuck myself to an orgasm with the shopping, and now you’re going on about sentiments?” Sherlock stated, bewildered. John lifted his head and smiled at him.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Sherlock huffed.

 

“ _ You’re _ ridiculous. And I love you.” John countered, leaning ever forward into Sherlock’s space. Sherlock blushed, like he always did when John told him he loved him, and John kissed him. Big warm hands pushed on his shoulders, and the younger man found himself pressed into the sofa cushions and being snogged rather passionately. Fingers wove into hair until it was impossible to tell where someones hands ended and the other person began. John somehow got himself in Sherlock’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Sherlock smirked into the kiss and his hands wound their way down John’s strong back to grip at his arse through his jeans.

 

“Normally it's me with my legs spread like this.” Sherlock smirked against John’s lips, smacking John’s ass just enough to sting through his jeans. That earned him a sharp nip to his bottom lip and his head being yanked backwards. Sherlock squealed as John bit several bruises down his neck and paid rigorous attention to Sherlock’s exposed collar bones.

 

“What was that?” John growled into his wet skin.

 

“I-I’m sorry.” Sherlock gasped, sinking lower into the sofa. Sherlock was on a steady path to a healthy weight, but he would always be lean and thin compared to bulk of John’s shoulders and arms. So even though John’s position might have made him somewhat vulnerable, the mere mass of himself made Sherlock feel small and owned.

 

“That’s what I thought.” John nipped at his ear and pulled at the tie to his dressing gown, which made Sherlock come back to himself and remember that he had an entire night planned. And while he generally liked (prefered) when John was in control, there were a few things that he had to do before John overtook him completely. 

 

“Wait, wait!”

 

John pulled away and sat up immediately, concern in his gaze.

 

“You alright? Did I hurt you?” He asked. Sherlock smiled at him and pressed a soft kiss into his mouth.

 

“No such thing. I just have something I need to do before… well.” He gestured between them. John arched a brow at him, but complied when Sherlock prompted him off his lap. He looked like a confused golden retriever as Sherlock sauntered towards his bedroom without him.

 

Sherlock had to lock the door behind him so that John wouldn’t get too curious and ruin the surprise. It took him longer to light the candles than he’d anticipated.  _ Damn nerves _ , he cursed silently as he dropped the lighter for the third time. His palms were unreasonably sweaty and it took him until all the candles were lit to realize that he was more anxious than he was letting himself believe. John’s knock at the door startled him out of his intense staring contest with the last un-lit candle.

 

“Just a moment!” He called, shakily. He took a moment to smooth out his dressing gown and adjust the silk briefs that were crawling up his arse. He took a deep breath, smoothing his hair, and considered blowing out all of the candles and telling John that he’d just like to take a bath and go to bed. 

 

“Sherlock? Why’s the door locked?” John asked, jigging the handle. There was a note of panic in his voice which caused Sherlock to shake his anxiety long enough to flick the latch and let John open the door. The man’s concerned features were smoothed out by the warm candle light emitting from the room. He silently asked Sherlock a question, and whatever answer he received must have been enough, because he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. 

 

“What’s all of this?” he asked, eyes sweeping all of the tea lights and pine scented candles that littered every surface of Sherlock’s bedroom.

 

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock replied softly. It was the only thing that could make it past the ball of anxiety that was threatening to choke him out. John must have heard the tightness in his voice, because he was holding his face a centering him in an instant. 

 

“What do you want, love?” John asked softly, bringing Sherlock’s forehead down to his and swaying them slightly. Sherlock gripped at him gratefully. 

 

“Everything, John.” He croaked out, trembling slightly. Even after the glorious week they’d shared with their newfound closeness, Sherlock still lived every moment like John would leave the next. He feared, no matter how irrationally, that  _ this _ would be the tipping point. Asking him to essentially take his virginity, would be the thing that made John realize that Sherlock was inexperienced and not worth his time. It would be the moment when he realized that Sherlock could not possibly please him at the level that he needed, and after all of the intimate moments they’d shared, it would be too late to go back to being  _ just _ friends, and John would have to leave.

 

“Sherlock, love, come back to me. You’re alright, sweetheart, shh, you’re okay.” John’s soft voice broke past the torrent of panicked voices swirling around in his head, and he grasped onto it like a drowning man. His surroundings came to him slowly, like a negative of a film bleeding away into color and feeling. He was laying against John’s chest, the man’s cotton shirt soft against his cheek. He was wrapped up in John’s strong arms and comforting scent with warm fingers brushing down his arm, surrounded by fluffy pillows and a feather duvet. The candles soft flames ebbing at the edges of his vision, leaving the rest of the room in a warm, velvety darkness. The tender murmuring of John’s voice was harmonied by each lullaby-like lungful of air he took, matching the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the steady thump of his heart beneath his ribcage. Sherlock took a small breath when he resurfaced. John knew he was out of his head, but continued muttering soft words to him and stroking his skin until he was ready to talk.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock said quietly, some minutes later. John shushed him softly.

 

“N’thin to be sorry for ‘Lock.” He rumbled, pressing a warm kiss into his forehead. They laid like that for several more eternal minutes, and finally the anxiety lifted its last finger from Sherlock’s chest and he felt like he could breathe normally again. 

 

“Want to talk about it?” John inquired gently. Sherlock chewed it over in his head for a second before he spoke, but even then, he wasn’t sure what to say.

 

“I-,” He choked on his words and tried again. “I’m scared.” He admitted, though it was not a conclusion he’d come to consciously. His ego would never let it. John’s grip tightened ever so slightly around him, as if to protect him from all of the evils and pain in the world. 

 

“What of, love?” John’s voice was tight. Sherlock thought about it for a moment.

 

“I don- No, that’s a lie… I know why, but it’s ridiculous.” Sherlock groused.

 

“Well, you’re a pretty ridiculous man. Let’s not forget that you’re the one who deleted the  _ fucking solar system _ .” John poked at him, a smile evident in his voice. Sherlock smiled into his shirt.

 

“Mm, I guess you’re right about that.” They fell silent for several more minutes before John prompted him again.

 

“I would really like to talk about this, Sherlock, if that’s alright. We went from snogging on the couch to you having an anxiety attack and collapsing in my arms-”

 

“I did not ‘ _ collapse in your arms _ ’, you bloody dramatic.” Sherlock interrupted.

 

“No, you’re right. You would have collapsed to the ground if I hadn’t fucking  _ caught _ you. You were shaking when the door opened, and you looked  _ terrified _ , Sherlock. I want to know what happened so that it doesn’t happen again. Not if I can help it.” John finished, trying to catch Sherlock’s eye, but the man stubbornly kept his face buried into John’s chest. A few beats passed.

 

“I am…terrified, John.” Sherlock admitted. The older man kept quiet and ran a soothing hand down his back, urging him to continue. 

 

“What are you scared of, sweetheart?”

 

“I…” Sherlock started, then took a breath and pushed on. “I’m scared that you’re going to realize that you don’t… want me.” He finished as quietly as he could, the anxiety back like an icy fist in his chest. John tensed but didn’t say anything, just continued his rhythmic stroking of Sherlock’s spine.

 

“I’m scared that I’m not going to be what you want. That I’m not going to be able to satisfy you, that you’ll get tired of me, but because of everything that’s happened already, we can’t just go back to how things were, and you’ll- you’ll-” Tears pricked at his eyes. “You’ll leave.” 

 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John’s heart broke, and he had to look at Sherlock’s face, to look him in the eyes and kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. So he gently rolled the small man off of his chest and propped himself up on his elbow to lean over him. He cupped the younger man’s jaw and tried to meet his eyes, but Sherlock was crying and eye contact was not going to happen. So John just started peppering kisses all over his face and neck and shoulders, whispering how much he loved him and wanted him, how absolutely perfect he was.

 

“You gorgeous bastard, * _ kiss* _ how could I ever be bored of you?  _ *kiss* *kiss*  _ You’re perfect for me, Sherlock.  _ *kiss*  _ I’ve had more “satisfaction” in the past week than I’ve had my whole damn life,  _ *kiss* _ It would take a damn tank to get me to walk out that door without you.  _ *kiss* _ ” John stopped and thought, then looked down at Sherlock who was staring up at him in quiet awe. “But then, if there were a tank posted outside, I think I’d much rather prefer to stay with you even with the potential of death in favor of spending any living moment without you. Because-” It was John’s turn to get teared up a little. “Because I already spent two years without you, and I'd rather die than do that again, Sherlock. 

 

“Honestly, through all of the things you’ve done to me, done to my things, our flat. Spying on me, ruining dates,  _ poisoning _ me. Why on earth, after I’ve confessed my love for you countless times, risked my life for you, killed for you, why, would I even think about leaving now? After eight years, though Mary’s miscarriage, and my divorce, through everything… Sherlock, when will you see that you’re extraordinary, and you’re the only person I want to be around?” John stroked his jaw and waited patiently for his reply, ready to dispute every reason Sherlock’s big brain could come up with as to why John shouldn't want him. Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around his wrist and a tear streamed from the corner of his eye down to the pillows. 

 

“Because you’re so kind, and loving, and wonderful. And sometimes I can’t believe that I’m worthy of that.” Sherlock sniffed, eyes shifting to their hands in his periphery. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.” His eyes slipped closed, waiting for the inevitable outcome that his brain had produced. But once again, for the thousandth time, John Watson surprised him. 

 

A tickle of short hair brushed against his forehead and a soft nose slid against his. Then John’s warm, slightly chapped lips were on his, slow and gentle; saying everything that John didn’t know how to articulate with words.

 

“Sherlock,” John said after a few moments of kissing him. “You deserve more than I am capable of giving you. You deserve the world.”

 

“I don’t want the world, I want you.” Sherlock whispered back to him. John’s eyes opened and met his.

 

“Then I’m yours, Sherlock. For however long you want me, any way you want me. I’m completely and utterly yours.” They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Sherlock searched his eyes for a lie, but only found John’s open and honest truth.


	13. To Lay with an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental health is strange. Here is a very long chapter of smut.

_ “Then I’m yours, Sherlock. For however long you want me, any way you want me. I’m completely and utterly yours.” They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Sherlock searched his eyes for a lie, but only found John’s open and honest truth. _

 

“John.” Sherlock whined, pleading for something, anything. 

 

John understood and leaned down to claim his mouth, tongue pushing past his lips and taking control. Sherlock let him have it without a complaint, quite the opposite in fact. He desperately latched onto John’s hair, tugging him impossibly closer. John groaned at the dull ache in his scalp and rolled completely on top of the thin man beneath him, thick arms bracketing his small shoulders. Sherlock’s legs wrapped around his and John nipped at his lower lip when he ground his hip against John’s hardening member. John rocked against him, settling his hips between Sherlock’s spread thighs. The dressing gown was askew with the tie coming loose, causing it to part and expose Sherlock’s heated skin to the soft tickle of John’s shirt. He pressed ever closer, drawing John down into him and tightening his legs around John’s waist. A big warm hand slid it’s way up Sherlock’s delicate neck and into his well conditioned curls, then tugged firmly. Sherlock gasped out a moan at the sudden yank, and John took the opportunity to kiss and nip at Sherlock’s jaw, chin, and neck. 

 

When he found one of those beautiful collar bones, he sunk his teeth into it and pulled Sherlock’s hair again. Sherlock whined and gripped at his back, digging his fingers into the taut muscles that flexed underneath his hands, hips bucking softly. John continued his slow, torturous exploration with his tongue and teeth down to Sherlock’s chest. The hand that wasn’t cradling his head stealthily undid the gown’s tie as John shifted his weight and pressed his hips fully down into Sherlock’s, effectively pinning him to the bed. Not like he was trying to go anywhere. With his silk gown now open, John’s wandering hand smoothed up his ribs and found one of Sherlock’s gorgeous perky nipples. He swept a thumb over it and Sherlock arched into the touch, panting. John dragged his teeth lightly over the other bud and Sherlock let out a high pitched whine. John chuckled at him and sat up slightly to gaze over him. And that’s when he noticed the red pants.

 

“Sherlock?” He teased, bemused, fingers skimming over his hip bone. The wrecked man just whimpered at him and lifted his hips for inspection. John sat up fully on his knees and grabbed Sherlock by the hips, pulling him down the bed and up onto his legs. He looked delectable sprawled out against the duvet with his plush arse against John’s thighs. John eyed his fidgeting fingers in the duvet and grabbed them.

 

“Put these under the pillow, love. Keep them there.” John commanded softly. Sherlock complied. The robe parted completely and his full form was exposed to John’s hungry gaze. Both old and new bite and kiss marks littered Sherlock’s skin. The deep purple and burgundy of the fresh ones stood out fantastically against the soft alabaster. His nipples were swollen and stiff from the small amount of attention they had received earlier. Even the soft thatches of dark hair in his underarms held a very odd beauty, it helped pull together the sultry masculine aura that radiated from him. John’s hands wandered across his taut belly and his ever sharp hip bones, pulling Sherlock up into his lap another inch. He tutted his tongue as he spied the tell tale glaze that seeped out of Sherlock’s pants. John stroked his fingers over the taut material covering Sherlock’s hips, teasing over his mons, but never running his fingers over the straining bump or the glistening puddle below it. Sherlock’s soft gasps and sighs sent a wave of possessive relaxation through his body. When he ran the tip of one finger over Sherlock’s cock, only once, Sherlock’s lips parted into a perfect O and his hips followed the upward stroke of John’s finger. John’s cock hardened completely, having Sherlock like this, so compliant and submissive and  _ needy _ . It was like a drug. John’s head swam with the headyness of it, grunting and pressing his bulge into Sherlock’s plump arse.

 

“ _ Jo~hn, _ ” Sherlock moaned sweetly, pressing back into his cock. John tutted at him again.

 

“So impatient, Sherlock.” John reprimanded, voice rough. He gave Sherlock’s cock another quick, light stroke and watched him gape and buck again. John giggled, and did it again, earning himself very similar reactions. 

 

“Your body's like an instrument, ‘Lock.” John murmured. “When I do this:” he traced his fingers over Sherlock’s satin covered hips, Sherlock hiccuped a sigh. “You sigh so prettily for me.” Sherlock blushed and turned his head into the pillows. 

 

“No, no, love. Eyes on me.” He whispered. He reached out a hand to correct Sherlock’s jaw, but it wasn’t necessary. As soon as the words left his mouth, Sherlock’s shy gaze was boring back into his, a small ember of a flame burning brightly in them. John caressed his jaw anyway and Sherlock keened into the touch.

 

“Lovely, lovely, so good for me, aren’t you?” John cooed at him, stroking his plump bottom lip with his thumb. Sherlock took the opportunity to part his lips and swipe at John’s digit with his tongue. John chuckled darkly at him and pushed his thumb past the smaller man’s velvety soft lips and pressed down on his tongue, causing him to gag slightly.

 

“That was a pretty noise.” John muttered, pressing his thumb down again and pushing it back. Sherlock choked and a glob of spit came up, John smeared it all over his flushed lips and wiped the rest of it on his cheek, glossing the scarlet blush that rose to the surface.

 

“Can I please take these off?” John inquired, tugging at the waistband of Sherlock’s panties. Sherlock panted a ‘yes’ and John wrangled them off, all the way down his impossibly long legs. When Sherlock’s bare arse was settled on his thighs John leaned down to claim his mouth, rubbing the rough material of his trousers against Sherlock’s newly sensitive skin.

 

“ _ John! _ ” He hissed in pain, jerking his hips down and accidentally biting the tongue that was probing at his mouth. John yelped and jumped backwards in surprise.

 

“Alright?” John asked, eyes wide in concern as he brought a hand to his mouth to check for bleeding. Sherlock blushed scarlet and pressed his thighs together to protect where his freshly shaven skin had caught on John’s jeans. 

 

“It’s se-sensitive.” Sherlock stuttered. John’s hand came away blood free as he quirked a brow at Sherlock.

 

“More so than usual?” He asked, skimming spit slickened fingers over Sherlock’s taut thighs, expecting him to spread his legs like he always did when John reached for his cunt. But his thighs stayed anxiously in place protecting his hole.  

 

“It’s a surprise.” Sherlock murmured, turning his face into the pillow. John noted with a pleased noise that Sherlock’s hands had remained under the pillow the whole while. 

 

“Can I see, love?” John asked, stroking lightly over the dark fuzzy hair on Sherlock’s legs. 

 

“I’m afraid you wont like it.” Sherlock responded in a whisper. John clicked his tongue at Sherlock sympathetically. He maneuvered the thin man off of his legs and leaned over his muscular thighs, slipping his thick hands under them. He started pressing soft warm kisses into the soft flesh of Sherlock’s thighs and felt the man turn to liquid beneath him.

 

“I am absolutely certain * _ kiss _ *, there is nothing you could possibly do * _ kiss _ *, to make me think your pussy is any less beautiful * _ kiss _ * * _ kiss _ *, than it was the first time I saw it.” John murmured into his skin. John worked his way up Sherlock’s thighs, nibbling and sucking the whole way, leaving a trail of marks in his path. He nibbled at Sherlock’s hip bone and moved his hands up the back of Sherlock’s legs to cup the bottom of his plump arse. John caught a strand of wetness from Sherlock’s hole in passing, making Sherlock shiver.

 

“Spread your legs for me, ‘Lock. Lemme see that gorgeous cunt of yours.” John growled softly, nosing at the thick thatch of hair that sat upon Sherlock’s mons. 

 

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and let his thighs part, gasping softly when he felt John’s sigh of lust breeze over his hot flesh. 

 

“That is fucking beautiful, pet.” John murmured, bringing his hands up from underneath Sherlock’s legs to stroke down Sherlock’s velvet soft lips. Sherlock gasped and twitched as John pet his newly shaven skin, but kept his legs dutifully spread. John grinned and spread his cunt open with his thumbs to blow a soft stream of air at his swollen hole. Sherlock’s thighs started twitching and he turned his face into the pillow as he let out a deep needy moan. John played with him like this for several minutes, never touching his swollen cock or dipping his fingers into his dripping snatch.

 

“Honestly, Sherlock,” John started quietly, fingers holding his lips open to the cool air of the room. Sherlock shivered. “I’m surprised you’ve tolerated this, this long. I want to play with that tolerance some time. I want to see how hard I can tease you until you break.”

 

“Please, John, please~” Sherlock moaned.  

 

“Please? You want me to break you, baby?” John chuckled at him, pinching his cunt lips together between his fore-fingers and twisting them slowly. Sherlock groaned and canted his hips upwards for relief, panting.

 

“Yes~” He gasped, his tongue lolling out as he tried to catch his breath.

 

“Be careful what you ask for, Sherlock.” John warned him, darkly, yanking on the twisted flesh in his fingers. Sherlock yelped out a sob, and John watched in fascination as a rivlet of precum dribbled out of Sherlock’s hole and onto the bunched up gown beneath him.

 

“Jo~ohn, please? I want you to  _ ruin _ me.” Sherlock begged. The doctors cock throbbed against his trousers. 

 

“Don’t you worry, my love. By the time I’m through fucking you into Sunday, you’ll be properly wrecked.” John reached down and freed himself from the confines of his trousers one handed, pulling them and his pants down past his arse. His cock sprung free, skimming Sherlock’s skin on its bounce. 

 

“Please, please, please…” Sherlock was chanting, gasping at each tug John gave to his sex. He started using his fingernails to pinch and scratch lightly at the leaking pussy beneath him. He kept a close watch on Sherlock’s face, looking for any indication that the smaller man was not enjoying himself. But Sherlock gave none, in fact, it seemed the dirtier he talked and the harder he pinched, the more flushed and dazed Sherlock became. 

 

“Does it make you hot when I talk to you like that?” John demanded, flicking the tip of Sherlock’s cock gently with his middle finger. Sherlock mewled and squirmed.

 

“Yes!” He choked out eventually. John stopped for a moment and pulled back the hood, exposing the cherry red tip that lie beneath. Sherlock tensed and held his breath as John considered the small bundle of flesh.

 

“Do you like it when I hurt you, Sherlock?” John asked, his voice low and steady. Sherlock whimpered and John leaned down towards his exposed cock and licked his lips.

 

“Answer me, slut.” John flicked the tip of his tongue over the over sensitive tip and Sherlock convulsed, but didn’t answer.

 

“Thats twice.” John growled and licked a hard stripe up the underside of the small cock and laved over the whole tip. Sherlock screamed and bucked several inches into the air, knocking John off of him.

 

“YES! Yes! Please, fuck, yes, John. I love it, I love it so much.” Sherlock sobbed, his nails scratching against the headboard as he attempted to leave his hands where John had put them.

 

“Please, John, please? Please fuck me, I need it so badly, ple~ase?” Sherlock begged in a whiny tone, thrusting his hips into the air. John chuckled darkly at him and crawled upwards, rubbing his leaking cock head against Sherlock’s hairless cunt.

 

“You want this dick, sweetheart?” John cooed, cocking a brow at him. Sherlock only keened. “I need an apology first. I have a rule, I don’t ask twice. You have to remember that, love. If I have to ask twice, then you get punished. We can talk about that more later, though.” John continued rubbing his cock head against Sherlock’s velvety lips. The smaller man nodded, wide eyed.

 

“I’m sorry, John. I’ll do better next time.” Sherlock said earnestly. John caressed his cheek and smiled, pushing his cock against Sherlocks, causing him to gasp so sweetly.  

 

“I know you will, pet.” 

 

Sherlock closed his eyes at the praise, turning his head into John’s touch. The older man took his time rubbing his leaking cockhead over Sherlock’s lips, reveling in the soft slide of wet skin. Sherlock would twitch and gasp every so often, his toes curling into the duvet and his fingernails digging into the headboard.

 

“Do you want fingers first, love?” John asked, pushing slightly harder against the wet seam. Sherlock groaned and tilted his chin up.

 

“No thank you, I want to feel the stretch.” He rasped. John let out a deep groan and began to press into Sherlock’s impossibly tight, hot, hole. The thin man beneath him was silent for several breathtaking minutes as John pushed ever so slowly into him. Only three inches in, and the bulged part of John’s cock was only just beginning. The first tendrils of a burning stretch tingled up from the base of Sherlock’s cunt and all the way up the tip of his cock and to his belly. He moaned and pressed his palms flat against the cool wood of the headboard to brace himself. John stopped pressing down and moved his hips in tiny circles to keep Sherlock stimulated without hurting him.

 

“How are we?” John asked. Sherlock moaned and scrunched his fingers against the wood. 

 

“G-good.” He gasped. John grinned and pressed in another centimeter, causing Sherlock to arch his back with his mouth agape.

 

“J-John! God!” Sherlock yelled, accidentally pushing himself down onto the largest part of the swell. He teared up and tensed. John grit his teeth at the sudden death grip on his cock and stilled Sherlock with a hard grasp on his hips. 

 

“Shhhshit. Fuck baby, shhhh.” John soothed, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on his hip bones. He dropped his brow to Sherlock’s and murmured gentle words into his lips. “So good and wet for me. God, you’re so tight, sweetheart.” He groaned through grit teeth. 

 

“It hurts.” Sherlock whimpered softly. John’s heart squeezed and he felt himself soften slightly in the painful heat.

 

“I’m so sorry, love. Need to stop?” He caressed an alabaster cheek bone and delighted in the soft flush that invaded his skin.

 

“N-no, just.. A second.”  

 

John nodded and leaned down to kiss him, the soft slide of tongue and lips relaxed him, and a few minutes later Sherlock’s back eased into the mattress. John was half hard, but he had enough girth to not slip out. 

 

“John?” Sherlock rumbled, the deep baritone washing over John like a warm breeze.

 

“Yes, ‘Lock?” John nosed down Sherlock’s jaw and nibbled a small bruise into the junction of his throat. 

 

“I love you.” Sherlock whispered, kissing at the hairs that tickled his chin. John grinned at him and pecked his lips.

 

“I love you too, Sherlock.” John murmured, kissing him deeply once more.

 

“John, I think I’m ready for more.” 

 

“Alright, sweetheart.” John tugged Sherlock’s bottom lip between his and pressed his hips forward slightly, then rocked backward. The smaller man gasped and turned his head into the pillow once John released his lip and continued his small thrusts as he built up hardness again. Sherlock was leaking like a faucet and John’s cock glided in and out easily. The only thing that was making things difficult was the knot in the middle of his cock. Every time it would pull at Sherlock’s entrance, he would whimper and grit his teeth, so John could only push forward. He sat up on his knees and admired where they were connected. Sherlock’s neatly trimmed cunt looked so soft and delicate with his thick veiny tool splitting it open, causing the sensitive flesh of his inner labia to turn bright red at the strain. Sherlock’s cock sat thick and proud beneath the patch of silky curls on his mons, the hood pulled back exposing the sensitive purple tip that lay beneath. John craved to run his tongue over it. To pull back the hood completely and wrap his lips around it, run his tongue around the ridge he knew was hiding under there, tease Sherlock’s little frenulum. But he knew Sherlock was way too sensitive for that, so he settled for gripping it between his fore fingers and matching pace with his thrusts.

 

Sherlock moaned and John heard his fingernails on the headboard again. His belly went taut as a stream of curses flew from his lips. John gave him a sudden hard thrust, causing another section of his cock to work its way inside of his hole. Sherlock sobbed at the treatment as John did it again, and again. Slowly pulling out until his knot pulled at his entrance, then jabbing as far as he could inside. John got lost in the rhythm, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation of Sherlock and all of the little sounds he made, so when he bottomed out by hitting Sherlock’s cervix, he was startled.

 

“ _ John _ ,” Sherlock moaned, looking up at him with a helpless expression. John gazed down his body, noting the sheen of sweat that had formed over his skin, causing him to glisten. He noticed with extreme delight, that the outline of his cock was visible through Sherlock’s stomach, though he hadn’t truly bottomed out himself, as there was still and inch or so of his cock that just  _ wouldn’t _ go in.

 

“Christ, ‘Lock, would you look at that.” He murmured in awe, letting go of Sherlock’s clit to run his hand over his stomach. The small man moaned and thrust his hips upwards into John’s touch, rotating in small circles on John’s member, causing the outline in his stomach to shift and move with him. John groaned and felt a sharp pang of heat in his stomach. He knew he was most likely going to cum in the next few minutes, and he wanted to make the most of it.

 

“Is it all the way in?” Sherlock whimpered.

 

“No baby, there's still a little bit, you have to feel this, though. Give me your hands.” John ordered. Sherlock stilled and winced at the stiffness in his shoulders as he brought his hands down from under the pillow. John grabbed his wrists and guided his long delicate fingers to the bulge in his stomach. Once Sherlock’s hands were in place, John started thrusting in small pushes against the entrance of his womb. The thought made John dizzy and he grabbed Sherlock’s hips to steady himself, then started thrusting harder. Sherlock cried out and pressed down on his stomach, creating a delicious pressure against John’s cock head, while also pressing a sweet spot of his own down onto that glorious weapon. John was losing his patience and it was getting more and more difficult to keep a slow pace for Sherlock.

 

“Can I go harder, pet? Please?” John gasped, hips stuttering. Sherlock nodded his consent and John picked up an easy rhythm that took Sherlock’s breath away.

 

“John, can I touch you?” Sherlock whined, fingers gripping and pulling at his own skin, leaving red streaks in their path.

 

“Of course, baby boy.” John laughed, and Sherlock latched on to him immediately, hands roaming over his pecs, shoulders, gripping at his neck. He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer. John’s hips halted for half a second, pressing into Sherlock’s cervix with all his weight. Sherlock gasped and grabbed at John's broad shoulders as he snapped his hips forward again and again, setting a bruising pace against the tiny opening that was kissing the head of his cock. Sherlock snaked a hand down to his cock and pressed against it in earnest, working himself up close to the edge.

  
  


“Fuck, Sherlock, you feel so good. I wanna cum in that pretty pussy, fill you up so good baby.” John growled, crouching down to nibble at Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock was delirious, moaning curses and whimpering into John’s ear. He dragged his nails down the broad muscled plane of John’s back. The sharp bite of Sherlock’s nails made John growl and sink his teeth into his neck, tasting blood. 

 

“P-please John, fill me- _ ah! _ \- up. B-breed me~” He gasped out. 

 

“ _ Jesus, Sherlock. _ ” John made a wounded sound, like he’d been shot in the gut and snapped his hips forward, cumming hard against Sherlock’s womb. Sherlock’s fingers worked frantically over his dick, pulling an orgasm out of himself with the feeling of John’s cock pulsing inside of him, filling him up.

 

A surreal stillness settled over them as they clung to each other and caught their breaths. Every now and then John’s cock would throb slightly and Sherlock’s cunt would give and answering twitch, causing them both to groan quietly. Eventually, John pushed himself up on shaky limbs, surprised that he even had to energy and the strength to do so. Sherlock looked serene sprawled out against the duvet. His eyes were unfocused and his hair was a wild tangle of curls, his skin flushed and glowing in the candle light, causing the love bites and various other sex marks to take on a peculiar shade of violet. John noted that he could still see the slight outline of his cock against Sherlock’s abdominal. He leaned up slowly onto his knees, shifting Sherlock slightly and causing him to groan softly. John thumbed down either side of the outline and Sherlock’s eyes focused on him as he felt the pressure inside of him. 

 

“You look so beautiful like this, Sherlock.” John murmured. Sherlock flushed a dusty red and reached down to place his hand atop the bulge, linking his pinky finger into one of John's. 

 

“John…” He whispered. The older man leaned down and pressed several soft, wet kisses into his pliant mouth. Sherlock opened his mouth willingly, his tongue seeking out John’s like a man dying of thirst. His hips started moving on their own accord, legs tightening where they were wrapped around John’s waist to help fuck himself softly onto John’s semi hard cock. 

 

“Again?” John gasped, giving a small involuntary thrust of his own.

 

“Don’t wanna let go, John. More, please?” Sherlock mouthed at his neck. 

 

So they were at it again, barely minutes later, not even enough time for John’s erection to flag completely. They were both sensitive and easily prone to overstimulation, so it was slow and heated. They were gently grinding against each other while chasing each other’s lips when they weren’t sucking bruises into the other’s skin. A long time passed like that before John felt the tendrils of an orgasm gripping at his abdomen. 

 

“Gonna cum again, baby boy.” John murmured, pulling Sherlock’s earlobe between his teeth. Sherlock moaned and grabbed at him, tightening his legs impossibly harder leaving John the barest of room to thrust into his punishing heat. 

 

“Want it, want it so bad John.” Sherlock whispered brokenly. John snaked a hand between then and took Sherlock’s hard nub in between his fingers and started pulling. Sherlock mewled and dug his fingers into John’s broad back, his blunt nails slipping against the perspiration that spread across John’s skin. Sherlock gazed up at the man as he pumped his hips. His brow was glistening with sweat, flickering with the candle light, his lips were parted due to his heavy breathing. Sherlock watched John’s muscles tense and bunch with every thrust, admiring how his biceps flexed as he worked his fingers over Sherlock’s cock. John met his gaze on a particularly strong thrust, his eyes were blazing hot and the emotion in them took Sherlock’s breath away, and suddenly he was floating, everything melted away into a velvet blackness, and he was cumming on John’s cock for a second time. John growled and snapped his hips to Sherlock’s twice more before releasing inside of him. 

 

This time John softened enough to slip out of Sherlock, the loss of weight and stretch inside of him jarred him back to the present with a gasp. His hole made a filthy sound as they parted, and immediately he felt John’s seed start to flow out of him. John stared for a few moments. Sherlock’s cunt looked so beautiful, freshly shaven and gaped slightly from John using him. His baby pink petals had turned a juicy red from the abuse his cock had put it through, and the stark cream color of his cum running out was a breathtaking contrast.

 

“Christ, love.” John murmured, sliding his fingers through the mess before pushing it back inside. Sherlock gave a small wince at the slight burn, but the sensation of John playing with his cum filled pussy was not something he would stop. Sherlock relaxed against the sheets and gave a pleased hum as John softly stroked and prodded him. 

 

“If I ate you out right now, would that be too much?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head and let out a soft squeak when John leaned down and put his lips to his burning flesh. John took his time lapping his seed out of Sherlock’s hole, sometimes spitting it out onto his clit and licking it back off.

 

“ _ Jesus, John _ .” Sherlock gasped. 

 

“Too much?” John asked, pulling off with a pop. He tried to look into Sherlock’s eyes, but the sight of his cum running down his lips was too pretty to pass up.

 

“N-not at all, just, I wasn’t expecting this. I gather most people don’t like the taste of ejaculate, let alone their own.”

 

“Do you like how my cum tastes?” John said it with such a serious expression it made Sherlock blush.

 

“Yes.” He whispered hoarsely. John grinned at him. 

 

“I don’t like it or hate it,” John shrugged, then licked a stripe up the seam of Sherlock’s pussy, causing the smaller man to jump and moan. “But it definitely tastes better with your cum mixed in.” He murmured cheekily, and proceed to eat Sherlock out in earnest. Sherlock grabbed at his hair and tightened his thighs around John’s head. Impossibly, another orgasm started building in his gut. A gush of fluid seeped out and ran down John’s chin. The man moaned in turn and spread Sherlock open with two fingers, causing the hood of his clit to pull back, exposing the tip to the onslaught of John’s tongue. 

 

“J-John please! Fuck!” Sherlock began thrusting his hips into John’s mouth. John moaned and created a suction around Sherlock’s cock, keeping his lips and tongue loosely around it. “I’m gonna- Fuck, d-d-” Sherlock choked. Then came, again. 

 

He arched his back and planted his feet onto John’s hips, who had laid flat between his legs at some point. John grunted as he felt several strands hair being torn from his scalp as Sherlock’s fingers tightened and pulled, but he didn’t mind much as he felt a gush of fluid coat his chin and drip down his neck. John moaned around his cock and Sherlock gave a twitch and an answering shout as the vibrations traveled down into his mons. John licked him through it for what seemed like hours, very gradually slowing his movements in an attempt to cool Sherlock down from the rough treatment. By the time Sherlock had caught his breath, John was licking slow stripes up his cunt lips with the flat of his tongue. Sherlock grinned at him sleepily.

 

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss not swallowing your cum as often.” Sherlock mused roughly. John’s eyes caught a spark and Sherlock tensed slightly, not sure if he would regret that or not. It turns out, he wouldn’t, as John leaned forward and gently coaxed his load out of Sherlock’s pussy and into his own mouth. Sherlock moaned and it came out high pitched and squeaky as John got on his hands and knees and stalked up the bed over Sherlock’s boneless form.

 

“John..?” Sherlock began to ask, but caught on quickly as John lowered his lips to his. Sherlock opened his mouth willingly, a soft sound escaping when John parted his lips and let his cum pass into Sherlock’s mouth, quickly chased by his own tongue. 

 

Sherlock cock gave a twitch of interest at the new form of play, and he decided he rather liked kissing John while they shared his seed together. There was something delightfully filthy about it, and it seemed John was rather enjoying it as well if his slow tongue and sucking lips were anything to go by. Not to mention the soft groans of pleasure John emitted when Sherlock’s tongue did something clever with the mess. John left the cum in Sherlock’s mouth when he pulled away, panting slightly. Sherlock waited until John’s gaze met his mouth before lolling his tongue out of his mouth and letting John watch the cum drip down his tongue and down his throat. Sherlock swallowed loudly and licked his lips with a grin.

 

John’s eyes took on a predatory glaze as he watched his seed drip down his lovers tongue, the flicker of candle light made his face glint dangerously and Sherlock’s heart beat sped up. 

 

“John?” Sherlock ventured. John gripped Sherlock’s throat with a thick calloused hand and squeezed gently.

 

“I love being able to fill you up at both ends.” John rumbled softly. Sherlock closed his eyes at the gentle possessive squeeze and relaxed into the duvet with a sated smile.

 

“Maybe next time you can fill every hole.” Sherlock said off handedly. He regretted his words only slightly when John’s grip around his neck tightened in warning. 

 

“Careful now, sweetheart. If you offer that sweet asshole to me, you won't be leaving this bed for a week.” John growled, giving his lovers neck one last gentle squeeze before letting his fingers trail across the love bites on his chest. Sherlock’s breath shuddered and he leaned into the caress.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He whispered. 

 

Eventually John got up and took care of the cleaning. Sherlock did try to get up and bathe, but his body refused to cooperate and stayed boneless against the bed. John chuckled at him softly, before pressing a kiss into his sweaty curls and leaving the room. When he came back, Sherlock was dozing, his chest rising and falling softly. John thought he looked like an angel with his halo of dark curls bracketing his angular face. His creamy skin looked thoroughly ravished with the multitude of kiss marks and bite marks, several scratched could be seen on his arms where John dug his nails in too hard. 

 

_ Maybe a fallen angel, then, _ John thought.

 

Sherlock grumbled at him when he started wiping down his skin with the warm flannel he brought from the bathroom. John wiped down every inch of his sweat covered skin, smiling when he reached the used cunt between Sherlock’s legs, and the man spread his thighs with a quiet sigh. Sherlock blinked lazily at John when his legs were lifted and John wiped down his calves and feet, gently probing between his toes. The thin man giggled sluggishly at the treatment and tried to roll away from John, but the former soldier saw his slow movements before they happened at softly pinned him to the bed. Sherlock didn’t try to fight him after he was pinned, and instead chased down the doctors lips for a chaste kiss. They stayed kissing gently like that for a while before Sherlock started nodding off again. John lifted him up and tucked some of the covers around him before going to blow out any candles that were still burning. 

 

John climbed into bed beside Sherlock and they clung to each other like magnets, all of Sherlock’s sharp points finding soft places to rest against John”s comfortable body.

 

“John?” Sherlock mumbled into his chest. John hummed in response, sleep gripping at the edges of his consciousness. 

 

“I love you.” Sherlock whispered. John smiled and dipped his head down, pressing several kisses into his cheeks and lips.

 

“I love you, too, Sherlock. Sleep tight.” John whispered back before they both were claimed by slumber.


End file.
